


Haven

by humorous



Series: The Haven Duology [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, ca:cw au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-06-01 14:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 49,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15145181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humorous/pseuds/humorous
Summary: Elda Reid thought she knew what she was getting into when her best childhood friend told her that he would be fighting crime with Captain America himself. But she didn’t think it would bring three uninvited guests to her doorstep one rainy night. And she definitely didn’t expect one of them to stay.ORIn which a haunted man finds his safe haven in a girl full of dreams.





	1. An Old Friend

It had been months—no, _years_ —since I'd seen him last. And then another week or so, I heard his voice on the phone for the last time. Explaining something about going to fight crime with Captain America, a 1940s superhero back from the dead. As his closest friend, after he'd come home from the military, I worried about him. After the loss of his best friend on a mission, it had taken him months to reach a point of talking about it. And even longer to get himself out of the gutter of PTSD.

So, naturally, after having witnessed his ultimate lows, I was a bit apprehensive about letting him go off and throw himself back into such things.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were in love with me," his smug tone painted a picture of a smirk on his lips.

"Oh, Sammy, how could you _ever_ be so foolish?" I'd replied playfully, but I continued in a somber tone. "Seriously, I don't want you getting hurt, Sam. Not after everything you've gone through to reach this point. Don't let it go to waste."

"I'm not, Elda, I swear. I trust him. He's _Captain_ America, if you haven't noticed. And I promise I'll keep in touch all along the way. Do you really think I would just leave and ditch you for a ninety-year-old man for a friend?"

Yes _I do_ , I'd thought that day, but I hadn't said anything. As my gut had told me, I was right. For the next few years, I'd gone from checking in every once in awhile via text to forgetting that he'd even left. When I did, it hurt, to say the least. Because while I harbored no romantic feelings for my lifelong friend, I'd grown reliant on him. We'd become dependant on each other. Of course, everything comes full circle eventually, you just have to give it some time.

And it did come, in the form of three towering men on the front stoop of my family's summer home. In the dead of night, in the pouring rain, and with no previous communication.

I'm sure my shocked face was comical at the least, but none of them laughed. The figure closest to me stepped forward into the house, forcing me to stagger backward.

"Just _who_ do you think you are?" I spoke angrily, still unable to see the face of my intruders. "You can't come into my house like you live here! That's it, I'm calling the police!" I started to retreat into the kitchen, where I'd last set my phone down, but there was a hand on my wrist, holding me back.

"I'm going to ask you not to," a man's voice came from under the hood, a deep growl that rolled over my body. _I know that voice._

"And _why_ ," I retorted, ripping my wrist out of his grip, "would I do anything you tell me to?"

"Because," he said, taking a step back to let the moonlight wash over him, "it would prove to be in your best interests." Reaching up with both hands, he removed the hood. Underneath was a man I thought I'd never see again.

" _Sam_ ," I breathed, wonder in my voice. But with a quick second recovery, I walked forward and slapped him on the arm, just hard enough to leave it stinging. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He cracked an empty smile. "Hey there, El. How's is going?"

I scoffed, unable to say anything for a few seconds. "I guess you wanna come in, right?" Stepping away from the doorway, I gestures for the three of them to come inside.

"Thanks, you're really helping us out with this," he said, and tramped into the house, his two companions following suit. One of them stood up straight, with the arm of the second draped around his shoulders, helping him stand.

"Watch the carpet, watch the carpet, the _carpet_ , Sam, oh my god," I cringed as I saw the wet footprints on the floor. "Okay, just take off your shoes, no, on the hard wood, _Sam_ , that's the carpet again, can't you _see_?" _Obviously not_ , I answered my own question as I grabbed his arm to steer him in the right direction. _It's like he can't remember anything about this house anymore._

"Sorry about the mess," the second man's voice settles around me. "Sam said you were the safest place to take him." He nodded toward the slumped man on his left side, hanging on for dear life.

"Yeah..." I trailed off, grabbing an old towel to soak up the water on the carpet. "What's going on?" I asked when I stood up, looking meaningfully at Sam. _I need answers_ , it said.

"You still have Cade's stuff here, right?" Sam asked, ignoring my question.

"I asked first," I replied, crossing my arms across my chest. "I'm not saying anything until you explain yourself."

He sighed. "Fine. But can we sit down for this? It's kind of a long story."

 _Well, there goes the rest of my night_ , I thought and beckoned them to the kitchen, where I started up a pot of coffee. "So who are you? And who's he?" I tipped my head at the two other men, who still hadn't revealed themselves.

Sam nodded confidently at his friends, causing one of them to pull back his hood.

"Oh my god, you're Captain America," I said in astonishment, turning around to face the handsome face completely. "Sam, that's _Captain_ —"

"Not anymore," the soldier interrupted. "Now I'm just Steve."

I looked questioningly at Sam, but he only shook his head. _Not now_. "Okay, well, who's he? And what's his problem?" Pointing a finger at the clearly incapacitated third man, I inspected him.

His hair was a curtain of stringy dark brown locks, covering his features. His shoulders were broad and strong, his arms looking as if they were about to burst from their sleeves. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, but he didn't lift his head.

"He's...an old friend," Steve explained vaguely. "And he's in a lot of danger."

"What kind of danger?" I narrowed my eyes and waited for an answer, although it took a few long seconds for anyone to speak.

"The CIA's looking for him," Sam said bluntly.

I blinked. "What?" I hissed. "He's a _criminal_? Sam, what have you been doing these past three years?"

He looked surprised. "It's been that long?"

I nodded as if to say, _duh_. "Uh, _yeah_ , did you lose track of time while you were out gallivanting with Captain America?"

"Look, I would love to keep this reunion going," Steve interrupted, grunting with the effort of holding up his unnamed friend. "But is there anywhere I can put him? He's getting really heavy."

Nodding again, I pointed to the couch in the living room. "Huh," I pondered aloud as he laid him down on the cushions, "Captain America, unable to hold the weight."

"I told you," he sighed, returning to the kitchen and taking a seat, "I'm not _him_ anymore." His eyes were downcast, as if his mind were replaying a memory.

"Sorry," I mumbled, and looked back at Sam. "It's been awhile, Sammy. I hope you're ready to talk."

He shrugged. "I hope _you're_ ready to pull an all-nighter. This is going to take awhile."

"By all means," I gestured to the table, pouring three cups of coffee, "spill your secrets."


	2. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elda Reid thought she knew what she was getting into when her best childhood friend told her that he would be fighting crime with Captain America himself. But she didn’t think it would bring three uninvited guests to her doorstep one rainy night. And she definitely didn’t expect one of them to stay.
> 
> OR
> 
> In which a haunted man finds his safe haven in a girl full of dreams.

Sam hesitated he spoke, resting his hands on the table. Finally, when he opened and closed his mouth for what felt like the hundredth time, I cut in.

"Are you going to talk, or just stare at me until the sun comes up?" Covering my mouth, I wait for a yawn to pass. "You're kind of stealing my night from me."

"Sorry about the secrecy," Steve put forth, a hand reaching up to absently stroke a growing beard. "I didn't want to take any unnecessary risks." He noticed he was touching his facial hair, then, and his hand dropped back to the table, resting together with the other. Wringing them in anxiousness, he looked to Sam to start off the conversation.

I don't know what I was expecting. But what they told me?  _That_ was definitely not on the list.

"He's..." Sam jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the unconscious man on the couch.

"He's not drunk, is he?" I asked, "Because I can't have anyone puking on the carpet. It would be a mess." I curled my lips in disgust just thinking of it.

My friend chuckled lowly, but it lacked feeling. "Always going on about your carpets," he muttered, his voice  _longing_  as if it were looking for something. "No, he's not drunk. Just out of it. He's been through a lot in the last few days."

I made a circling motion with my hands that said,  _keep going, get on with it, I don't have all night_.

"Well, he's like Steve," he finally said, but he wasn't looking at me. He was looking out the windows, all around the rooms, as if someone of danger was listening. "You're sure there's no one else here, right?" He asked.

I couldn't stand the look on his face, although it did confuse me. Reaching over to grab his hand and looking him dead in the eye, I promised, "there's no one here, Sammy. We're in the middle of the woods. No one's going to find us here." I tried to ignore the pang in my heart as he pulled his hand away and back in his lap.

"Okay," he said, sighing a little, but not in relief. "Okay." His eyes were dark, completely unrecognizable from the man I'd known since we were little. It was like he'd folded back in on himself, regressing back into a toddler scared of finding monsters under his bed.

 _What happened to you, Sammy?_ My pained heart called out, but I didn't have the courage to say anything. It was hard enough to get this conversation going, anyway.

"He's my...friend," Steve said, deciding to continue without Sam. "We fought in Germany at the same time, but not... _together_." He sounded like he didn't want to talk about it much. I didn't blame him. No one ever wants to talk about wartime, no matter how long ago it was.

"So he's from your time?" I couldn't help a small smile from raising on my lips. "That's so cool, I thought you were the only one," I spoke with wonder.

Steve's words were grim and bitter. "So did I," he mumbled, so quietly I almost missed it. "But then he was there again, a completely different person from the one I knew."

I nodded knowingly. Sam had been like that after coming back from his tour. I'd thought that would be it; he'd recovered and was close to the old version of Sam Wilson I'd grown to trust. But something had happened during the past three years. He was different, even more closed off than before.

"What happened?" My voice was soft, careful not to disturb the shroud of silence that now covered us.

He sighed, clearing his throat gently. "A whole lot of shit," he concluded, again in that low, bitter tone. "I lost him more times than I can count. Wakanda was supposed to be  _safe_. No one was supposed to find him there." Steve ducked his head for a few moments. When he looked back up, his eyes were ringed with red.

My eyes slid over to the figure of the third man on the couch, his shoulder still rising and falling with his breathing. Now, not slung across the shoulders of Steve, he looked peaceful, as if he were only sleeping.

"They tore him apart, changed him, made him a..." Steve's mind seemed to be in line with mine, as he looked over at his friend, shoulders slumped in defeat. "They made him a  _killer_."

I snapped out of any sort of sleep-filled trance I'd previously been in. " _What?_ He's a  _what?_ Sam?" I whispered angrily. "What is this? Some kind of ultimate heist? Breaking a  _murderer_ out of prison and bringing him here?"

"You have to understand the full story, El, I promise. I wouldn't have brought him here if I didn't completely trust you to do the right thing." Sam's eyes were wide. He was  _pleading._

But I wasn't finished, the shock hadn't faded. "The right thing? The only  _right thing_ I can think of doing right now is calling the feds! And  _yes_ , Sam. I  _really_ would."

Steve's eyes were filled with despair. "Maybe you were wrong, Sam. She doesn't want to help."

My childhood friend looked hesitant, but he began to stand up. "I'm sorry for putting you in this situation, El."

"Wait."

He sat back down, eyebrows knit in confusion.

I sighed.  _Elda, what the hell are you doing?_ "I never said I wasn't willing to help. I just want to make sure I know what I'm getting myself into. That means  _everything._ From nineteen-forty-five to today. Spill it," I directed these words at Steve, who merely nodded.

"Of course," he said, "it's only fair."

Sam was peering at me in disbelief. "What?" I shrugged, smirking at him. "I don't give up on family on the flip of a dime, Wilson. Even if you've gone MIA for the past few years."

He nodded uncertainly but settled back in. "It's a lot to ask of you, El. But if you're willing to do it, we'd be forever grateful."

"Skip the formalities," I said. "Let's get to the good stuff. What exactly do you want me to do? I'm not some kind of soldier like you guys, I've only got a house and my garden out back."

The two men held my gaze, their chins dipping in meaning. It took a few moments, but it finally clicked.

"You're absolutely crazy."


	3. The Past is a Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elda Reid thought she knew what she was getting into when her best childhood friend told her that he would be fighting crime with Captain America himself. But she didn’t think it would bring three uninvited guests to her doorstep one rainy night. And she definitely didn’t expect one of them to stay.
> 
> OR
> 
> In which a haunted man finds his safe haven in a girl full of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't really like this chapter, but i mean, thanks for reading it anyway!

I held my breath as they told me everything—I mean,  _everything_. From the moment Steve became his muscular self, all the way to now. My heart ached for them both; they'd been through so much, and all for what now felt like nothing, I'm sure.

But when they told me why they were  _here_ , why they had to bring him to me, that's when my heart cracked.

[ It had been almost a year since Steve left him under Wakanda's watchful eye, trusting their King T'Challa to keep him safe. Everything was normal, no one knew where he was being kept. Their plan had gone without a catch.

Until somebody flipped a switch, setting off a chain of events that would bring the world crashing down upon everyone.

Getting him out of cryo—"That's how they kept him alive for all these years, in cryofreeze," Steve explained—was easy enough, but his mind had barely woken up and realized the severity of their situation when people had stormed the room, donning black gear and protective masks to cover all features but their eyes. A barrage of bullets whistled through the air and only increased their panic.

Sam and Steve weren't surprised to be engaged in a fight once they stepped out into open air, but it was impossibly difficult to keep their companion out of the line of fire. Managing to stay behind the Dora Milaje, the female warriors of Wakanda that protect the throne, they escaped the country with only a few scratches. Of course, the two of them were spent from the exertion, but the third was barely awake enough to speak a word. Within a few minutes of being in the international air, he passed out.

Then they were faced with a new problem: where to bring him, where to keep him out of the public eye and prying enemies whose true intentions were nothing but evil. It was only after almost ten minutes when Sam figured it out.

"I know someone," he'd said, surprise in his voice. "How could I have forgotten about her?"

"Who?" Steve asked, his eyes on the horizon ahead of them.

Sam pursed his lips. "She's an old friend. I've known her my whole life."

"Can we trust her?"

That was the million-dollar question:  _trust_.

Sam looked back at his friend and nodded firmly. "Yes."

"Can  _I_ trust her?" Steve asked, eyes downcast. "I'm not leaving him with someone I don't know."

"Would I ever have mentioned her if I didn't think we could both trust her to keep him safe?" came Sam's response. Steve was in agreement after a few moments of silence.

In only a matter of two days, they'd made it to the United States, losing their Wakandan aircraft long before, in order to keep their inconspicuity. Then, taking their friend by the arms, they trekked a few miles to the front door of who they hoped would be their saving grace. ]

It didn't take long for them to explain the details of their trip; the whole time my eyes drifted over to the man's form on the couch.  _How is he sleeping through all of this?_ I pondered.

"I..." I sighed, unsure of what to say. "I'm glad you thought of me," I spoke truthfully.

"We'll be staying here for a few days, just so he can get...comfortable with the new scenery," Sam said, "if that's okay with you?"

I nodded. "Of course, I can get all three of you some fresh clothes." Looking back at the unnamed figure in the living room, I asked aloud, "um, what's his name?"

"My name's Bucky."

His voice was a quiet, husky whisper, scratching along my arms and raising the hair on my neck.

I didn't have the courage to say anything in return, just focusing on his strong body as it sat up, his broad-shouldered back facing me.

Steve was up in a heartbeat. "How are you feeling, Buck?" The endearing nickname pulled at my heart. They were truly friends since childhood. "Everything's going to be fine, Sam's friend is going to—"

He waved him off with a jerk of his head. "I heard the whole thing. Even  _I_  can't sleep that long."

Unsure if I should laugh or commiserate, I keep my eyes on Sam and raise my eyebrows in question,  _what do I do?_

He stood up and beckoned me over so I was standing in front of my new project.

Bucky's face was long, his eyes, though filled with darkness from the surroundings, clouded over with...something I couldn't place. He shifted his eyes up to mine, and even though I could barely see his features under the shadow of the moon and the sheet of hair covering his face, I felt myself tense.

"Hi," I said gently. He didn't reply.

A few moments of silence stretched between us, but then Sam broke it, suggesting we all turn in for the night. "You're not expecting anyone, are you?" He asked, but the hard look sent me the true message:  _your family's not going to visit, right?_

Shaking my head, I retreated into the hallway leading to the guest room and the adjoining bathroom. "You guys can stay here, or there's another room just down the hall on the right," I said, pointing in the general direction. "I'm not really sure how to handle the sleeping arrangements, so..."

"This is fine, we'll take it from here," Steve said, and laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Thank you," he added, staring into my eyes, "we really— _I_ really appreciate what you're doing for us. I know it isn't easy."

I shrugged. "How hard could it be? I'm only housing three fugitives for however long, it can't be  _that_ bad." I tried to let out a light laugh to hide my anxiety, but it bubbled out.

"Trust me, El, we're going to help you all we can. He's a hard one to warm up to, but all we're asking you is to keep him here. No one will be able to find him. He'll be safe," Sam reassured me.

"It's all about safety," I said, trying to further convince myself that I wasn't getting myself into a mess I wouldn't be able to climb out of.

The two men stepped into the room, leaving Bucky behind them. He'd gotten up to follow us, but now he was just standing there, looking at me with those eyes again. The eyes I couldn't see very well in the darkness.

"Do you want to sleep in the other room?" I asked him gently, pointing to the empty room down the hall. "I can bring you some clean clothes, my brother—"

"I'll stay on the couch," he said, his voice low. I would have argued, had he been anyone else, but he had the face of a person who didn't want to be doubted, so I didn't press.

"Okay," I said, "just let me know if you need anything. I'll be upstairs, my bedroom's the first on the left." Pausing, I added, "I'm Elda, by the way. Elda Reid."

He stood there for what felt like an eternity, just... _inspecting me_. Then, "it must be nice to be happy with yourself. To know who you are and who you've become."

Shocked by his confession, and too late to respond, I hung my mouth open, unable to speak. He turned and went back to the living room, leaving me in the shadows of my house.


	4. First Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading this, you guys! i seriously didn't think i would get any hits at all, much less any kudos! and even though the numbers are small, i'm super glad that i still have some people reading this piece of art that i've worked so hard on!
> 
> xoxo laura

I woke earlierthan usual the next morning, a fact that made me want to smash my head into a wall. After talking through the darkest hours of the night, it should have been painful to open my eyes and get up out of bed. But for a reason I couldn't find, I was fine. Perhaps my mind was a little fuzzy, but other than the usual mandatory stretches, I was able to pad down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Despite my early morning, my...guests seemed to have woken up a few hours prior. When I stepped into the room, Sam looked up, smiling. "You've still got the bedhead of a bear, I see," he grinned. His eyes, albeit bright with his upturned lips, were clouded with sadness.

I rolled my eyes. "You haven't been back for twelve hours and you're already insulting me." I flicked his shoulder as I walked by, heading for the Keurig coffee machine. With a once-over of the open-concept kitchen and living room, I notice that the third man, Bucky, is missing. "Where'd he go?" I asked, putting in a single cup of coffee into the machine.

Steve smiled apologetically. "He's not accustomed to meeting new people very often. His mind, it's..." he trailed off and searched for the word in the empty air in front of him. "Let's just say he's been through a lot throughout the years. Anyone with his life experience is bound to have trust issues," he finished with a grim expression on his face, lips pursed.

"That's a nice way of putting it," Sam said.

As I wrapped my hands around a fresh, steaming hot cup of coffee, I flicked my eyes to the hallway leading to the bedrooms and bathroom. "Okay, well, you still haven't answered my question." Dipping my head in the direction of the hall, I asked, "Did he go in there?"

Steve nodded, wringing his hands together. "He said he was going to take a shower if that's okay?"

I shrugged. "It's no skin off my back," I replied. It was then that I noticed the lack of food in front of the boys. "Do you guys want anything to eat?" I offered.

"I'm fine, thanks," Steve decline politely as Sam spoke up:

" _Actually,_ Elda, I'm  _so_ glad you asked. I was waiting for you to make your famous eggs and hashbrowns," he smirked, earning a pointed look from me.

"Hm," I mocked a thoughtful expression, "turns out, the skillet's broken. Looks like you're on your own, Wilson."

Sam got up from the table and headed for the pantry. After a moment of silence, he calls out over his shoulder, "You're still eating Lucky Charms? El, you're twenty-six."

I furrowed my eyebrows. " _And_?" I muttered with a warning tone. "Am I supposed to take offense to that comment?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm just...it's good to see that you haven't changed much."

I took a step away from the counter and tucked my hair behind my ears. "Yeah, not much has happened ever since Jack left." I tried to ignore the pang of sorrow that tugged at my gut with the mention of my brother. Steve looked as if he was going to ask about him, but I guessed he could see the emotion on my face and steered clear. After a few moments of dead air pass between us, I shake my head to clear the stupor. "I'm gonna go check on him," I announced quietly, "see if he needs any towels or anything."

Without waiting for an answer, I found myself leaving the kitchen and making my way to the bathroom on the first floor. Unsure of what I'd find, I kept my distance from the closed door. I couldn't hear the water running; hopefully, he was already done and I would avoid any kind of awkward situation.

Softly rapping my knuckles on the door, I called out to him. "Hey, Bucky? Um, do you...do you need any towels, or clothes, or anything?"

The door opened in response, revealing a steam-filled bathroom smelling of my coconut body wash, and... _oh._

Bucky was standing in the doorway, nearly naked save for the towel wrapped around his waist, hanging dangerously low on his hips. But the reason I was speechless, that my mouth went dry at the sight of him wasn't because of his lack of clothing, it was the stump of a shoulder that was covered with a black, elastic-looking material.

Scars ran along his skin, particularly raised and pink nearer to his left shoulder. And meeting with his flesh, as if it were forced there, was a shiny metal surface, in the shape of a shoulder.

"I'm good," he replied lowly. He noticed I'm staring at his shoulder, subconsciously shifting so it's further out of my view.

Guilt washed over me in a tidal wave, causing me to duck my head, mumbling, "Okay," and I scurried back to the kitchen.

"Uh, Sam?" I asked, gesturing for him to meet me in the living room. "Can we have a chat?"

My friend raised his eyebrows in confusion but shrugged. "Yeah, okay." When we were out of the earshot of Steve, he looked at me. "What's up?"

I tilted my chin down as if to say,  _you really don't know?_ "You failed to mention a rather large detail?" When he didn't say anything, I continued, "the fact that he's missing an arm? And that it was a  _metal_ arm?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, "I just thought you saw it last night and didn't say anything about it."

"If I'd seen it last night, you would have heard about it from me," I glared at him. "You don't seem to think that it's a crucial piece of information to share with the person you're entrusting him to?"

Sam shook his head. "No, of course it is, I just...he doesn't like to talk about it, so I wanted you to find out from him. He's not into talking behind someone's back. It's a 1940s thing."

I scrunched my face up and squinted at him. "Um, I'd say it's still a twenty-first-century thing, too, but whatever," I let it slide.

He rolled his eyes. "You're still going to keep him, right? This doesn't change things?"

"Don't talk about him like he's a pet, Sammy, that's rude. But yeah, he can stay. I'd just prefer to know anything else about him that will directly affect me?"

He looked as if he were about to say something, but then shrugged it off. "Nope, not that I can think of," he replied quickly, leaving me with the knowledge that he definitely  _did_ have more to say, but chose to keep it to himself.

_Whatever_ , I rolled my eyes inwardly,  _it's not like I won't have to talk to Bucky anyway. I'll just ask him. Get him to open up._

However long  _that_  would take.


	5. The Movie Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elda Reid thought she knew what she was getting into when her best childhood friend told her that he would be fighting crime with Captain America himself. But she didn’t think it would bring three uninvited guests to her doorstep one rainy night. And she definitely didn’t expect one of them to stay.
> 
> OR
> 
> In which a haunted man finds his safe haven in a girl full of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was my birthday yesterday, so i decided to post a few chapters for you as a gift from me to you!

A few days had passed in silence, the four of us speaking so little that it felt like living in a silent movie. Only when Sam cracked a joke, or Steve would thank me for letting Bucky stay(for about the millionth time, may I add), or on the rare occasion where Bucky would utter a word or two, would I open my mouth to respond. It was not  _living,_ it was  _existing_. And I hated every minute of it.

"Do you guys want to, like, watch a movie or something?" I suggested on the third day, when Sam's eyes fluttered shut after almost an hour of trying to look as if he were wide awake. "I've got some good ones, and it'll pass the time," I continued.

Sam shrugged. "Only if we watch  _The Goonies_."

His counterpart, Steve, widened his eyes a little. "What if someone finds us?" he asked, worry ringing clear and true through his voice. "We have to be ready."

"Don't worry, I've got my heeled boots just by the door. If anyone breaks in, I'll just wack 'em with that," I answered simply, but received two confused looks from the men on the couch. I glanced up at the doorway, where Bucky was leaning against the wall, and felt my stomach flutter with the look he was giving me. His lips wore a ghost of a smirk, his eyes displaying a hint of amusement. I shook my head to rid it of the thoughts I felt entering my mind.

"And what'll you do when they come after you with  _guns_ , El?" Steve said, having grown accustomed to my nickname. Lots can change in just a few days. "How are you going to fight off a whole army?"

A moment of silence fell to my ears; I was unsure of how to answer that. "Whatever," I rolled my eyes, "I don't know anything about hand-to-hand combat anyway." Turning around, I rummaged through the case of movies I kept against the living room wall and talked over my shoulder. "Do you really fight bad guys with guns? Like,  _military_ -grade?"

I grabbed  _The Goonies_  and turned back around to face them. Sam had his arms crossed, his eyebrows raised in an  _are-you-serious-right-now_ look. "Well, we're not fighting them with  _swords_ ," he said slowly and deliberately as if he were teaching math to a four-year-old.

"Or bows and arrows." The quiet answer from Bucky barely reached my ears, but when it did, I saw his eyes go wide like he just realized he'd actually spoken aloud and I grinned at his discomfort. It was, if anything, the tiniest bit endearing.

"Okay, well..." Feeling my face redden from Sam's comment, I tightened my grip on the movie and put it in, watching the television light up with bright colors and shapes as the previews began to roll through. I flopped down next to Sam, warming as he extended an arm across my shoulders. It reminded me of how we used to be. Two friends watching movies into the darkness of the night.

 _Except one of us wanted to be more than friends_ , my mind pointed out painfully and I pushed the thought out of my head. Now was not the time to dwell on the past.

"Wanna place a bet?" he grinned at Steve and me.

Steve looked confused. "On what?"

"On whether or not I can quote the entire movie," he replied quickly, winking at me.

"That's a pointless bet and you know it, Sammy," I huffed, "you always win."

"After three years?" Steve peered at me. "I'll play. I don't think you'll quote the  _whole_ thing."

I rolled my eyes. "You're going to be sorry for making that bet," I warned him, but he only shrugged. I glanced my head back to Bucky, who still hadn't moved from his place against the wall. "Hey, you wanna join the bet?" I asked him. I still hadn't figured out how to talk to him; he  _didn't_   _talk._

He shook his head in a small, smooth motion. "No thanks," he answered lowly. "I'm good."

Pressing my lips together in a thin smile, I turned back around and closed my eyes.  _No matter what he says, or how he reacts, he always renders me speechless,_ I ponder.  _It's like he's avoiding any kind of relationship. Like he doesn't even want to try to be civil_.

I blink furiously to clear my head of the confusing thoughts and rest my head on Sam's shoulder, trying to lose myself in the opening sequence of  _The Goonies_ :

It opened up on a jailhouse in the fall of 1985, a guard barking at the inmates that it was time for lunch. As he stalked down the corridor, he saw a man hanging by his neck on the far wall of his cell.

"Well,  _that's_ awfully morbid," Steve gave Sam and I a sidelong glance, scrunching his nose in disgust at our smug grins. "Are you sure this is a comedy?"

Sam hushed his friend and gestured back to the screen. "Just watch, Cap--I mean, Steve, uh..." he trailed off, stumbling over his words. "Sorry."

Steve didn't reply but adjusted his position on the couch, the only movement to reveal his discomfort with the comment. And even though I knew it must have been a painful situation to talk about it, I still had the deep desire to  _know_ what made Captain America fall from grace.

I probably would have asked him if Sam hadn't started quoting the Fratelli's right about then.

" _Come on!_ " he said in a low, raspy voice just like the woman in the movie. Cackling, I threw my head back, savoring the feeling of normalcy that encased my bones.

"Oh, how I've missed you, Sammy," I sighed, and poked his cheek with my index finger. "I can't believe you still know how to do it."

He shrugged, a satisfied smirk on his face. "My alter ego of Mama Fratelli never leaves me." He grinned at Steve, who was crossing his arms in denial. "You're lucky we didn't put money on the bet, Rogers," he teased, "or you'd be going broke tonight."

Steve rolled his eyes. "That's only one line," he challenged. "Let's see if you can keep it up."

 _Oh, the masculinity,_ I shook my head in amusement.  _Boys really_ do _stay boys, at least in some ways._

As the movie played on, I felt my stomach start to cramp from all the belly laughs that erupted from my throat, Sam's impressions close to spot-on. When Chunk began his sobbing recollection of his entire life in front of the Fratellis, I sensed movement out of the corner of my eye. My breath caught in my throat.

Bucky had moved from the wall, slowly and silently making his way closer to the television. He sat down in a chair, but his posture was too straight to give off the sense that he was comfortable being there. Still, his face was enraptured as he glued his eyes to the screen, watching as the group of Mikey, Mouth, Data, and the others paraded down the tunnels beneath the restaurant, searching for One-Eyed Willy's treasure.

I'd seen this movie about a thousand time before. I forgot how it can act like a drug to the people who watch it for the first time. I hid a grin, trying to ignore the fluttering in my gut. I could imagine what he was feeling. I'd felt it many times.

He was losing himself in the plot, pretending that life around him had stopped and it couldn't harm him, not while he was in the presence of such an adventure. There's something about a good movie that takes you out of time and leaves you hanging in the balance, letting you have just a couple hours to yourself. Not until the credits rolled would he return to reality.

Maybe I was reading into it. Maybe I was just projecting my past experiences on him because of that small glimmer of  _hope_ that I thought I saw in his eyes. Maybe I was completely wrong, and he only moved closer because he wanted to hear.

I was staring too long. His eyes drifted away from the TV for a moment, sliding over to land on mine. We held each other's gaze for what feels like hours--though it couldn't have been more than a millisecond--before I ducked my head, my cheeks burning with embarrassment for being caught. When I braved a glance up at him, he hadn't moved his head back to the movie. In fact, it seemed as if he was studying me, his eyes never leaving my face.

Not until Sam cracked the, " _Follow them size fives!_ " line, launching me back into the company of my best friend and Captain America who wasn't Captain America anymore, and their one-armed companion, a ghost from the forties. I squeezed Sam's hand tightly, trying to catch my breath. When I looked back at Bucky, his face was back toward the TV, his jawline more pronounced than before. It was like he was clenching his teeth...in anger?

When the movie ended, I took it out and left the television on, a local news station updating the townspeople on the upcoming festivals, how to get the best deals of the season, and anything that wasn't important.

"Do you guys want--" I was shushed by two panicked men on the couch, eyes wide and sitting up straight on the couch. Bucky's face was downcast. "What?" I whispered, so as to not disturb the news. I took a spot standing behind the couch, my eyes falling on a picture of Sam and Steve. "What are you guys doing on the news?" I asked as if I was going to get an answer.

The newswoman on the screen answered me, the red banner with the words 'BREAKING NEWS' .

"International criminals, Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers, formerly known as Captain America of the Avengers--"

"Come on," Sam whined, crossing his arms, "I was as much a part of the Avengers as he was!"

"Sam," Steve hissed to quiet him down.

"...have confirmed that the two fugitives are currently in the United States--"

"Oh my god," I say, holding a hand over my mouth. " _Oh my god._ "

Steve locked eyes with Sam, a grim expression on his features. They both nodded in resolve.

"We have to go," he said. "Right now."


	6. Time to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elda Reid thought she knew what she was getting into when her best childhood friend told her that he would be fighting crime with Captain America himself. But she didn’t think it would bring three uninvited guests to her doorstep one rainy night. And she definitely didn’t expect one of them to stay.
> 
> OR
> 
> In which a haunted man finds his safe haven in a girl full of dreams.

"This is insane,"I breathed as I watched Steve and Sam rushing around the house, grabbing their things from the rooms they'd been staying in for the past few days. In less than five minutes, they had their jackets on, shoes tied and steeled expressions that told me they weren't hesitant about leaving. At all. "Where are you guys gonna go?" I asked, shock still rushing through my veins. The newswoman was still rambling on about the two men standing in front of me.

"...refusing to sign the Sokovia Accords," she said in her detached, matter-of-fact tone that all news anchors have, "the two men and their accomplices, Scott Lang, Clint Barton and Wanda Maximoff—"

Steve made a noise of protest.

"—separated themselves from the CIA and their former allies. In the most recent news, they have managed to break out the world's most dangerous assassin from his prison in Wakanda. James Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier—"

I flicked my eyes down at Bucky, who had his eyes squeezed shut as if he was trying to shut out the world around him.

"—was last seen fleeing the country with Rogers and Wilson, but his current whereabouts are unknown. In a press conference just two hours ago made by the CIA, the director spoke on behalf of the association when he warned reporters and the American people that 'it wouldn't be far off to assume Barnes is in the company of Rogers and Wilson.'"

"Turn it off," Steve said sharply, startling me. My eyes searched for the remote, and when I found it I launched myself over the couch and grabbed it, frantically pressing the 'off' button.

I opened my mouth to apologize profusely, but the words got stuck in my throat when I saw the despair and embarrassment on Bucky's face. His shoulders were hunched forward and he hid his face from view behind a curtain of hair. He was folding in on himself. I'd seen it many times before, on the features of the dark-skinned man across from me.

The two men standing glanced guiltily at Bucky. "You know what this means, Buck," Steve said softly as if he was letting him down easy. "We have to go."

The room was silent for a moment, but then Bucky snapped his head up and stood abruptly, startling me with the sudden movement. His eyes were ablaze with a blue fire I'd never seen in anyone's eyes before. "I'll get my stuff," he nodded, but Steve stepped forward to lay a hand on his chest, stopping him from moving.

"Not you."

Bucky blinked slowly. "Steve," he warned, raising an eyebrow and flicking his eyes to mine. "We can't afford to involve anyone else in this."

My face burned with the effect of his words, though I understood what he was getting at. When you're so entrenched in your own problems, you have to remember to keep others out of it. Innocent people have no business being involved in those kinds of issues.

 _But I'm not as innocent as he thinks. I've seen more destruction than he knows_ , my subconscious whispered.

Sam shook his head. "Elda knows what she's getting into," he said firmly. "You'll be safe if you stay here."

"It's not my safety I'm worried about," he hissed, just loud enough for me to detect. He refused to look at me, his eyes flicking back and forth between Steve and Sam.

Furrowing my eyebrows, I crossed my arms and retorted, "I can take care of myself."

Bucky shifted his gaze to me and I saw that anger, now focused on me. "Don't overestimate yourself," he shot back.

I huffed, frustration aimed directly at him.  _What right does he have to call me helpless? He doesn't even_ know  _me._

That may have been the problem.

Steve raised his arms between us to ease the tension rolling off Bucky and me in waves. "That's enough," he said lowly. "Sam and I have to leave  _right now_ , otherwise both of you will be in danger." When I jerked out a nod, he lowered his arms and patted Bucky on the shoulder. "It's for the best," he said as if to convince both of them.

I shot Bucky a warning look that had  _if you doubt me again I'll tear off your other arm_ all other it. For a hint of a second, I saw his eyes change from deep anger to something between annoyance and amusement. But before I could get a good look, he blinked and it disappeared.

He turned to talk to Steve in hushed whispers, and when I looked over at Sam, he was nearing me with a sad smile on his face. "I guess it's time to go," he said, shrugging. His lack of emotion on his face, apart from the smile, told me that he was only hiding everything inside, a common process for him to go through before being deported. The familiarity of his detached facial expression tugged at my heartstrings.

"Don't wait another three years to come back," I teased him, but the words fell short as my throat seized up with tears. I hadn't realized how good it felt to have him home these past few days. Now that he was leaving, I was thrust back into the downward spiral of his time in the military.

He grinned. "I promise, it'll only be two and a half this time," he joked, earning a light slap on the arm from me.

Sucked back into the old way of our goodbyes, I kissed my fingertip and tapped the tip of his nose, chuckling as he purposely crossed his eyes, following my movements. It was always our way of saying goodbye, a way to lighten the mood of his leaving. But this time, it only made it worse. "I'm gonna miss you, Sammy," I sighed and pulled him in for a hug. He wrapped his arms around me tightly, and there I was: five years younger, a girl in love with the idea of my best friend since childhood.

 _Stop it_ , I scolded my thoughts.  _You're not doing any good_.

When he pulled away to flash me one more smirk, I tried to keep it together. "Don't forget about me, El," he said, pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead. The gesture reminded me of my brother, pulling me into the past again.

I rolled my eyes. "How could I? You're like a pest that knows how to dodge the insecticide."

"Now  _that_ ," he replied, walking away, "was rude." Steve was waiting at the door for him, and Sam gave him a thumbs-up when he approached. "Let's go get the bastards," he said, nodding firmly.

Steve glanced over at me, where I was trying to hold in the pent-up tears that had built up over three years. He gave me a small smile, mouthing a  _thank you_ before he turned to step outside.

The door closed behind them, the  _click_ of the doorknob turning into place ringing out into the now silent room. The sound was final, the reality of the situation sinking into my bones. I wouldn't be seeing them for a very long time.

I opened my mouth to say something to Bucky, but I only saw his back as he retreated into the house, leaving me alone in the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update! leave comments, what do you think about the story so far?
> 
> xoxo laura


	7. Get to Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elda Reid thought she knew what she was getting into when her best childhood friend told her that he would be fighting crime with Captain America himself. But she didn’t think it would bring three uninvited guests to her doorstep one rainy night. And she definitely didn’t expect one of them to stay.
> 
> OR
> 
> In which a haunted man finds his safe haven in a girl full of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIPLE UPDATE? hell yeah! enjoy!

Annoyance surged through my veins, prompting my next decision to stomp after him quickly, following him down the hall. It probably wasn't my finest idea.

"Hey!" I called after him, frustration ebbing into my voice. When he didn't stop, I planted my feet and curled my lip. "What, so you're just gonna ignore me this whole time?"

He whirled around, a dark look on his face that almost gave me pause. "It's for the best," he sneered, turning Steve's previous words around and smashing them in my face.

Rolling my eyes, I retorted, "how is this supposed to work if we don't know anything about each other?"

His shoulders slumped, but only an inch. "If you haven't noticed over the past few days, I'm not particularly versed in getting to know people." He scowled. "Besides, it wouldn't do any good." He began to turn around, but I was insistent.

"What's that supposed to mean?" My attempt at losing the venom in my tone had worked, but it didn't stop the annoyance at his sour mood from winding around in my body. "What do you mean, it won't do any good?"

Bucky's eyes slowly blinked up to mine, such a profound mix of emotions held in their depths that I didn't know what to do. His stormy blue irises burned with anger, aimed directly at me, but the shades of guilt and longing that floated beneath the mask only confused me even more. He was such a complex person, I couldn't even begin to understand the person he was, or who he'd become. 

"My only friends just left me with a stranger whom I hardly know. So forgive me for being a little hesitant to cuddle on the couch and watch movies," he snarled, the mockery in his voice crawling over my skin, electrifying it.

"Look, I get it. It's hard to see them leave without--"

He shook his head sharply and hissed, "you have  _no_ idea how this feels. Don't try to act like you know me."

"Then why don't you tell me about yourself? If we're going to be stuck in this house together, we may as well know some things about each other."

He scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. "I'm not interested in playing twenty questions while my friends are out there risking their lives for my sake."

"It must feel good, to have some friends so loyal that they'd do anything to keep you safe," I said softly, my memories of Sam doing the same thing for me popping up in my head.

Bucky looked at me with his dark eyes. "It doesn't feel  _good_ ," he spat, "I don't deserve to be  _saved_. The more you realize that the better off you'll be." He shook his head, his next words so soft it seemed as if he didn't want me to hear them. "You can't even  _fathom_ what it feels like to be the reason for all of this." 

Without letting me respond, he stalked off, down the hallway and turning into one of the empty bedrooms. Recognizing just whose bedroom it was, I put a hand out. "Can you stay out of there, that's--"

He whipped his head back to glare at me, cruel amusement flickering in his eyes. "Why? Is it precious  _Sammy's_ room?"

The tone of his voice smacked me across the face; the implication of his words hit me hard. "No," I retorted. The strength left me as I continued, "It's my brother's."

Bucky didn't say anything. He just blinked, standing there and staring at me, his eyes sliding up and down my body. Without betraying any emotion through his gaze, he suddenly was walking briskly toward me, so fast I almost stepped back to avoid a collision. But his eyes left mine, staring somewhere over my shoulder as he stalked past me, back towards the living room.

I huffed, crossing my arms.  _Who knew he would be so moody? That should have been in a contract of sorts before I agreed to do this._

———————————————————— _  
_

The garden was especially cooperative that day as if it were compensating for my frustrations with Bucky. Planting my new tomato seeds was a task made nearly effortless because the soil was uncharacteristically soft, moving wherever I needed it to and completely covering the seeds.

After planting a full row of tomatoes, I stood back to inspect my work, wiping my hands on my faded blue jeans. Choosing to grow my own produce had to have been one of the best decisions in my life. Sure, it was a lot of work, but it kept me busy. It wasn't like I had a job, or that I would be getting one any time soon. My inability to afford college had pretty much made that decision for me. 

But a simplistic life wasn't a bad life. It just meant that when I needed to buy new clothes, I'd go to the thrift shops--luckily thrifting was a newfound trend, so I didn't stick out like a sore thumb. And when I needed money, I applied for a part-time job at the nearest gas station. Sure, it was painstaking hours of ringing up people's orders of extra-large sodas and donuts(those were mostly the truck drivers), heaps and mounds of chocolate(high school students with their parents' money), or the normal stuff, like milk and bread. But it was worth the money. Besides, I couldn't live without at least a little slack in my budget.

Ever since my parents moved to Arizona for retirement and my brother left, I was all alone to care for the family house. My closest friends at the time encouraged me to sell it and buy an apartment closer to the city, but I'd never had the heart to get rid of the quaint home in the middle of the forest. It centered me, always reminding me of the beauty of nature. 

Besides, it seemed to be working perfectly for its new purpose of housing a world-renowned criminal. 

Sighing, I grabbed the pruning shears out of my bucket and began to clip some flowers from their stems, preparing to refresh the vase of flowers on the kitchen table. I silently thanked Mother Nature for delivering such a rainstorm a few nights prior, having prompted the flowers to bloom more beautifully than they had been this summer.

 _That night was just full of surprises,_ I thought in bitter amusement. 

Losing myself in the  _snip_ of the shears, I hum to myself, content filling my body. Of all the things that happened in the past few days, being with my garden was the most normal. I was trying to savor it for as long as I could before I had to go back inside and deal with the moody centenarian. 

I heard the shuffling of footsteps beside me, and I froze. The flowers I'd been collecting in my hand were dropped from my slackened grip, flopping on the ground. Someone had snuck up on me and I was more than willing to bet it was someone from the CIA, someone coming to collect Bucky for the crimes he'd committed. I knew it wouldn't have worked. There was no way they could evade the law for this long, especially when I was involved. 

Discreetly squatting down to grab a trowel, I gripped it in my hand like a character in a horror movie would grab a butcher knife. Whirling around, I was ready to defend myself against anyone who'd appeared behind me.

But when I noticed who it was, it took all of my willpower to keep myself from letting a string of curses fly from my lips. "Are you  _kidding_ me?" I shouted angrily. "You couldn't have announced yourself to a girl minding her own business?"

Bucky shifted his weight from foot to foot. For a moment, he looked like he was going to apologize for scaring the hell out of me, but then he just glanced up, his features hardened, and said, "You should come inside."

"Yeah, just a few minutes, I've got to finish with the flowers first," I replied, turning my back to pick up the forgotten plants from the ground. "If you hadn't freaked me out so much I would probably be done by now," I added to be petty. It only satisfied me a little.

He didn't stop, though. "You shouldn't be out here."

Rolling my eyes, I rotated and put a hand on my hip, blowing a strand of hair out of my eyes and cocking an eyebrow at him. "Yeah? How come?"

Bucky's stony expression didn't change. "Someone could see you. It's not safe."

" _Please_ ," I said matter-of-factly, "no one wants to waste their time to come all the way out here these days. They all want to stay in the city and go to their white-collar jobs and raise their kids in a pollution-infested suburb." The bitterness in my voice wasn't supposed to be so thick, but the combined frustration between Bucky and the norm of society really put me on edge. "No one's going to find us here, so you can calm down and go back to sulking."

I only felt a little guilty for saying it. But if it affected him in any way, he didn't show it. His face remained expressionless, his right hand hanging by his side. He seemed mute, merely peering at me in my faded blue jeans and an old white t-shirt, my hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. His eyes changed for a moment, showing something more than just indifference. But before I could decipher it, the look had disappeared as fast as it had appeared. 

"Fine," he said, his voice hard again. "I'll be inside.  _Sulking_." He turned on his heel and quickly made his way back to the house. Sighing, I tried to return to my contentment of gardening, but I couldn't shake his words. If it weren't for his expression or the tone of his words, I would've thought that he was... _concerned_ for my safety. I shook my head. No, he didn't care about me. He barely knew me.

It was the earsplitting silence that twisted my gut. If we were ever going to reach a point of mutual understanding, it seemed like it would be far in the future, if ever.


	8. Try to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elda Reid thought she knew what she was getting into when her best childhood friend told her that he would be fighting crime with Captain America himself. But she didn’t think it would bring three uninvited guests to her doorstep one rainy night. And she definitely didn’t expect one of them to stay.
> 
> OR
> 
> In which a haunted man finds his safe haven in a girl full of dreams.

Time seemed togo extraordinarily slowly for the rest of the day. I'd gone back inside after the...slight  _altercation_ with Bucky, flowers in hand and ready to be put in a vase. After doing such, I grabbed my book and proceeded to the bottom of the stairs, leading up to my bedroom. 

Before I began the ascent, though, I cast a glance down the narrow hallway, the only leg of the house that Bucky seemed to like, since he spent most of his time in the guest room. I considered going to check on him but I shook my head, a sharp voice in my mind scolding me.

_If he wants help, he'll ask for it,_ the voice said.  _It's his choice if he wants to distance himself from everyone._

Ignoring the pang of guilt in my chest, I climbed the stairs and curled up on my bed, diving into Agatha Christie's  _Murder on the Orient Express._ The copy I had was quite old, a well-worn cover just barely holding the book together. It was my mother's, one of the only things she'd decided to leave at the house.

"Who knows, Elda," she'd said with her wide, warm smile, "someday it may serve you well. Remind you of us when you get lonely." Of course, as any mother would, she'd had tears in her glassy gray eyes. She was emotional like that.

_Yes, because what screams "fond family memories" more than the murder of a child kidnapper on a train in the dead of winter?_

Stifling a nostalgic grin, I turned the page and wrapped a blanket around my legs, settling in for a few hours. If Bucky was going to be moody the whole time he was here, I was going to have to get used to it. Not that it would be much of a difference from my previous years living alone. 

Hercules Poirot had only just finished collecting all of the aliases from the train's occupants when I looked over to check the time. It had been a short two hours. Groaning, I marked my place in the book and set it down. I swung my legs off the bed and padded downstairs into the kitchen. 

I wasn't much of a cook, but like Sam said, I could make a mean dish of scrambled eggs and hashbrowns. It was my specialty. In the need of comfort food, I grabbed a mixing bowl and a bag of frozen hashbrowns--I didn't have the time to cut up the potatoes, alright?--and placed them on the counter. With the stove on, I began to crack some eggs and stir them together, watching the previously separate liquids converge into a pale yellow substance. 

Before I put the mixture on the stove, though, I found myself looking back into the darkened hallway. Sucking it up, I wiped my hands off with a dishtowel and started my way down the hallway.

"Bucky?" I asked softly, my knuckles tapping on the closed door. I knew it wasn't smart to startle a former soldier, no matter how long ago their tour was. "I...I'm making dinner. Do you want to come out and eat with me?"

There was no reply.

"Hey, there's eggs and hashbrowns. I don't really want to eat alone if I don't have to," I tried to coax him out of the room but still, he didn't answer.

_Alright, fine_ , I rolled my eyes and turned the doorknob. 

The room was dark aside from the soft light cascading in through the window, flickering through the curtains as it danced on the carpet. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring out into the day, his back straight and unmoving. I could barely tell he was alive, but his shoulders rose and fell gently with his breaths. 

"Come on," I tried again, my voice soft but starting to fill with annoyance, "we can't be strangers forever. Sometimes we're going to have to talk."

Bucky turned his head to the side, displaying his sharp jawline and dark stubble on his chin. He didn't do anything, just a slight dip of his chin let me know that he'd heard me. Then he turned back to stare out the window with his back straight. The way he sat on the bed, it was like he didn't want to sink into it. Like he was afraid to leave an indent, anything that showed he was here in the first place.

"Okay, fine," I sighed, retreating back into the hallway. "I'll leave you alone to...whatever it is you're doing. But I'll be out in the kitchen if you need anything."

I didn't wait for a response before walking back to the stove, pouring the mixture of several eggs onto the skillet. Inhaling a breath through my nose, I tried not to take his silence personally. It made sense; it was close to what Sam had done after coming home from the military. But Bucky had spoken to me earlier, and now he was...ignoring me? I couldn't figure him out. 

When the eggs were sizzling on the stove and ready to be put on my plate, I picked it up and turned around to serve myself when I saw Bucky standing there, standing awkwardly by the kitchen table. I jumped about six inches, nearly dropping the hot pan of eggs.

"You can't keep  _doing_ that," I hissed, a furious blush rising on my cheeks as I dished out some food onto two plates. "You have to warn a girl if you're going to sneak up on her like that," I continued. "Here," I added, "I made you some."

Bringing the plates to the table, I put his in the spot across from me and sat down. It only took a few moments for me to notice he wasn't going to sit down. I sighed. "You know, it's kind of uncomfortable to eat while standing."

He didn't look at me as he mumbled, "Not hungry."

I raised my eyebrows. " _Really_?" My voice was practically dripping with skepticism.

Another two seconds, and then he gave in, carefully sitting down across from me. The plain white t-shirt I'd given him on his first day here stretched and hugged his shoulders tightly as he reached forward to grab the fork. 

"Huh," I mused, "for a trained assassin, you don't move very fast."

The fork dropped from his fingers to the table, and it felt like the first time when his blue eyes, this time dark with danger, met mine. His jaw twitched, and his hand was clenched in a fist.

I ducked my head, guilt racking my body in enormous waves. "Sorry," I said softly, "I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine," he grumbled in a low voice, the finality in his tone ringing clear throughout me. 

About five more minutes passed between us in dead silence apart from the  _clink_ of our utensils on the plates. Then, unable to stand it anymore, I dared to look up at him. "If you don't mind me asking, what do you do when you're in that room? When you're just sitting there?"

He held still, and for whatever reason, my eyes slid down to his left shoulder, the stump hidden by the shirt's sleeve. Bucky noticed I was looking, and since he couldn't really do anything to hide it, he just glared at me until I looked away. "Nothing," he mumbled. When I tilted my head in suspicion, he sighed. "I...I do a lot of thinking. Try to remember who I am. Who I was."

I nodded to his shoulder. "Before that?" The bluntness of my words almost made me cringe, but I was done walking around on eggshells near him. 

Bucky looked surprised at my words as well, but after a second of staring at me, he nodded swiftly. "Yeah." He looked down at his empty plate and pushed it away. "Can I ask you something?" he said in a deep, raspy voice.

Shrugging, I pushed my plate off to the side as well. "Sure."

"Why don't you treat me like I'm...I don't know,  _broken_?"

The hopelessness in his voice caused my heart to splinter. "Well," I began, unsure of how to answer. "Veterans are always getting treated like they're fragile when they come back. There's no reason for them to be treated that way by the people who are the closest to them." I grinned and twisted a strand of hair around a finger. "Besides, Sam always hated it when I gave him that look of, 'I feel so bad for you, let me fix your life.' And I get it. Sometimes you need a bit of normalcy after everything."

His eyes went cold at the mention of Sam. It was something in between frustration, sadness, and... _jealousy_?

I almost said something about it, but then he interrupted my thoughts with a small, "Thank you."

It was hard to stifle the satisfied smile that grew on my lips. Reaching out slowly, I touched my fingertips to his, holding my hand there for a second. His eyes kept flicking between mine and the spot our hands touched. It was hardly a second that we'd held it before he shifted his hand away and rose from the chair. "Thanks for the food," he said gruffly. I thought he would retreat to the guest room, but he only stood there, staring at me. "Elda," he whispered.

But it wasn't a question or a call for my advice. He'd simply said my name, like a realization. It held a slight lilt of innocence on the syllables, and I fought to keep my cheeks from heating as I realized how much  _I liked it_ , the way my name rolled of his tongue.


	9. The Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elda Reid thought she knew what she was getting into when her best childhood friend told her that he would be fighting crime with Captain America himself. But she didn’t think it would bring three uninvited guests to her doorstep one rainy night. And she definitely didn’t expect one of them to stay.
> 
> OR
> 
> In which a haunted man finds his safe haven in a girl full of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave comments about what you think! i admit, i’ve been leaving you guys hanging for a little bit, but don’t worry, i have lots of chapters written, i just have to edit them!! enjoy!

Bucky stared atme. After a second, he shook his head. "No thanks," he answered my request.

"Why not?" I said, crossing my arms with an eyebrow raised. "It'll be fun. Besides, it's like I said: if we're going to be stuck together for a while, it doesn't hurt to spend time with each other."

His eyes were dark as he looked down, "I'd rather not."

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth that his words caused. Trying to ignore it, I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, thinking of an adequate response. But he beat me to it.

"I didn't mean it," he rushed, "not like that." Shifting his weight on his feet, he looked down at the floor again.

"Then what  _did_ you mean?" I asked, trying--and failing--to act as if the cutting words hadn't hit me. When he shook his head slightly, I huffed, "Oh, right, that's too personal, isn't it? I'm not allowed to ask you anything that requires you to say more than three words, is that it?"

His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched. "I don't want to talk about it," he said slowly.

Rolling my eyes, I gestured to the couch. "Fine, let's just forget about it for now. But I'm not going to treat you like a fragile piece of glass, remember?" Nodding, I retreated to the couch, reaching for the remote. It only took a few moments for him to follow my lead, carefully sitting down on the other end, as far away as he could get from me.

There wasn't really anything on the TV, to my dismay. It seemed like tonight was going to be just another failed attempt to spend time with Bucky.

 _Why does it even matter, El?_ A scornful voice interrupted my thoughts.  _It's not like he's going to be here for the rest of his life. One day he'll go back to Steve, his lifelong friend, and leave you alone, letting you think that maybe he wasn't aware of how you looked at him, and that you had to spend so much time getting over him—_

But wait, that wasn't Bucky. It was Sam that left me.

 _Even so,_ my confused mind continued,  _he's not like Sam. He's done things that Sam wouldn't even think of doing..._ right _? He's..._ murdered _people. Done the unthinkable._

Unconsciously, I shifted further away from the one-armed man beside me, the arm of the couch sticking into my ribs. I held back a grimace. We probably looked like a couple of exes that were forced to sit next to each other after having broken up only an hour ago. The inevitable discomfort on our faces must have been comical.

When I dared to glance over at him, though, he had his head down again. This time, instead of letting his hair cascade down in front of his face, obscuring his sharp jawline from view, he'd threaded the strands carefully behind his ear, leaving his strong profile on display. His jaw sported the beginnings of a dark brown beard from days of neglect. His nose was long and pointed, a strengthening feature that gave his face a sort of defiance to  it. But even as I saw his strength, the softness to his lips didn't escape my gaze. They were fuller than I remembered, their light pink shade bright in the darkness of the living room.

_I wonder what it would be like, to scrape my palm against his jaw, to follow the slope of his nose with my fingertip, to curl my hands in his brown locks, to feel the swell of his lips against—_

_Stop. No. This is no time for childish fantasies, El,_ I scolded myself, clearing my mind of its sinful thoughts.

Besides, he'd noticed by now. And he was staring back at me, for what felt like the millionth time since he got here. So I flashed a sheepish smile, feeling my cheeks burn from the embarrassment of being caught. Turning my attention back to the TV, I flicked through the channels in pursuit of something, anything to get my mind off of his confusing self.

My eyes found CNN, one of the only news stations I bothered to watch. But on the screen, I saw a picture that made my heart drop. "Oh my god," I whispered.

The picture was grainy, obviously zoomed in to the max from a cell phone probably fifty yards away. In it were two men, arms mid-pump like they were running a race—which, in a way, probably wasn't far from the truth. Their faces were a blurry mess from the motion. But the two shapes were as clear in my mind as they had been, standing in my doorway before they left. Someone spotted Steve and Sam. And now the whole nation, probably the whole  _world,_ knew where to look for them.

"As an anonymous tip came in from around seven individuals today, it is confirmed that the two men you see in the picture at the upper-right-hand corner of your screen  _are_  in fact, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, the fugitives believed to have brought the Winter Soldier, James Barnes, to the United States. They were not seen with Barnes, but the CIA has assured the American people that, 'it's only time until Barnes is found and put in a fitting facility to keep the country out of harm's way.' The last time anyone saw Barnes was during his planned escape from the Wakandan prison he had previously been committed to."

Bucky scoffed, a deep, dangerous noise rumbling from his chest. " _Prison_ ," he spat. "They'll only wish."

Shrinking into the couch, I mumbled, "I'm sorry I don't live in Australia."

He whipped his head to me, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

I shrugged. "People wouldn't expect you to be in Australia, is all I'm saying. Maybe if I lived there, we wouldn't be having this problem."

His eyes grew dark and I shrunk away more at his words. "You are not the reason for this.  _I am_."

I shook my head. "Stop being so hard on yourself, Bucky—"

"I'll see you in the morning," he said gruffly, suddenly standing up from the couch and stalking down the hallway.

My eyes followed his actions, my jaw slackened in shock. He couldn't possibly believe this was his fault, could he? I mean, he'd said it before, but I didn't realize how deeply that guilt ran in his bones. It made my heart twinge. "Goodnight," I murmured to his retreating figure.

————————————————————

As I stood in the kitchen, pacing across the tile, I shook my head, steeling myself.  _Just say you're sorry, El, it's no big deal. You can't just let him brood all night. It's unfair to him and yourself._

So, with a facade of confidence, I walked down the hallway, preparing myself to knock strongly on the door, to tell him that...

But the door was already open.  _There goes the first step of my plan_. Oh, but who uses plans anyway?

"Hey, I just wanted to say that I'm—" The words dropped from my lips and dried up instantly, my eyes landing on a full, muscular torso of flesh and one arm.

The ends of his hair just brushed the tops of his shoulders, muscles rippling down his chest, just inviting me to run my hand—

 _Elda, I swear to god,_ my subconscious groaned,  _when did you melt into a hormonal teenager?_

I raised a hand in an informal greeting. "I, uh, I'm sorry about...about the, the TV, I didn't mean—"

He flicked his eyes up to mine. "I said, I'll see you in the morning," he said lowly, the true message as clear as day:  _leave me alone._

"Right, sorry," I rushed, and stepped away from the doorway, the stairs to my bedroom in sight. "Goodnight," I said, and scurried to the stairs, only to hear his door shut, the lock clicking into place only seconds later.

————————————————————

It had to have been one in the morning when I heard it.

It wasn't a scream, not really, but it was loud enough to rouse me from sleep at an ungodly hour of the night, the noises of pain evident in his intelligible groans.

 _He'd better not be having a wet dream or something,_ I inwardly rolled my eyes, throwing the covers off of me and carefully padding down the stairs, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

The noises got louder as I neared his door, most of them deep in a raging fit, but dispersed throughout were small whimpers, like he was pleading for his life. I could only imagine what it felt like to do that.

My hand was on the doorknob, but it didn't turn. Then it hit me: he'd locked the door when I left.  _Damn you, Barnes,_ I suppressed a groan and trudged to the supplies closet near the front door, pulling out a drawer and rummaging for the keys that would unlock the bedroom doors. Seizing one in my hand, I quickly—well, as fast as my fatigued state would allow—made my way back to the door and inserted the key, twisting it until I heard it unlock.  _I should open the door now,_ I found myself whispering in my head. But I still hesitated, my hand on the cool metal of the doorknob.

_Just open it, Elda. At least you'll be able to figure out what he's doing in there._

With only a little doubt left in my actions, I twisted the door open, and found Bucky writhing in the bed, the sheets in a bundle at the end of the mattress. The way his jaw clenched and let out a roar through his teeth was a clear sign to me: he was having a nightmare.

The sight launched me into action; I was at his side in what felt like two steps. I laid my hands on his shoulders, holding his body down on the bed. "Bucky!" I said, feeling his muscles contract beneath my touch. "Bucky, wake up, you're having a nightmare—"

His eyes shot open, a murderous glint in his eye. I shrunk back, my hands leaving his warm body. "Bucky?" I asked, my voice small.

He didn't say anything, but his right hand reached out and grasped onto my bicep, squeezing so hard I knew he'd leave a mark. I tried to wriggle our of his grip, but it only made him tighten his fist further. "Bucky, I swear to god, let  _go!_ " He didn't do anything. His eyes were so dark, it set a frightened fire throughout my body. "Bucky?" I squeaked out.

Then the pain subsided, and he dropped his arm, his eyes softening and turning into a mask of sheer horror. "What did I do?" He muttered, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

"I...you woke me up," I explained hastily, rubbing the soreness from my arm. "Your eyes...it was like you were a different person." I shifted away from him, my back hitting the wooden bed board at the edge of the mattress. I could go no further without getting up. But I didn't want to leave him like this.

Bucky shook his head and ran a hand down his face. "I was  _there_  again. It was like the first time, my mind..." his eyes slid up to mine. "Did I hurt you?"

I shook my head, but it was too much of a hesitation. He blew out a breath, "Fuck," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Do you...want to talk about it? That usually helps people."

"No," he breathed. "The only thing that'll help is  _not_ talking about it."

I nodded, looking to the window, where the curtains wavered slightly from the light breeze coming in. "Well, I'm not leaving you here alone for the rest of the night."

He jerked his head to look at me. "Why?"

Shrugging, I moved to sit beside him, only around six inches left between us. His eyes didn't leave me, watching every move with a sense of wonder. "I used to have nightmares too, you know," I whispered. "I know how much it sucks to be alone afterwards."

"So what do you propose we do?" He said quietly. "Talk about our problems?" There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, causing me to raise an eyebrow and tilt my head to look at him.

"I have an inkling of a sensation that you're firmly against that idea."

He chuckled, his breathy tones cascading over my body in soft waves. "You'd be right."

I nodded, resting my hands on my lap. "We don't have to talk," I answered softly. "We can just sit here. Just watch the sun come up, or something." I checked the clock hanging on the wall. "In six hours," I said smugly, wrapping myself in the covers and laying down on my back. "Just lay down," I told him. "Just lay here, and don't say anything."

Bucky followed suit, only a few seconds of hesitation causing his hand to pause. Then he wriggled down to lay next to me, on his back, his stump of a shoulder nearest to me.

Unable to keep my eyes off of the peculiar appearance, I whispered, "how'd you lose your arm?"

He kept his eyes on the ceiling as he grumbled back, "I thought we weren't gonna talk."

"Fair enough." I rolled over on my side, facing the wall. As I closed my eyes, I felt more than heard him exhale softly.

The corners of my lips tugged up in a grin.


	10. The Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elda Reid thought she knew what she was getting into when her best childhood friend told her that he would be fighting crime with Captain America himself. But she didn’t think it would bring three uninvited guests to her doorstep one rainy night. And she definitely didn’t expect one of them to stay.
> 
> OR
> 
> In which a haunted man finds his safe haven in a girl full of dreams.

The first thingI heard was a soft, slow rhythm of breathing, presumably Bucky's. I kept my eyes closed as I let the rest of my senses wake up, the next one being touch. I could feel a wall of warm flesh beside me, my head curled up into his side. My legs were bent, my knees brushing against his warm flesh.

I opened my eyes and inhaled sharply.

Just as I'd felt, my head was curled into a cocoon beneath where his arm would be, tucked against his side as though I were meant to be there. Eyes level with his torso, I watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest, his breathing easy.  _He's still asleep,_ I noticed, and quietly moved away so I could tilt my head up, my own breath catching in my throat as I saw him.

His eyes were closed, but not squeezed shut. His lips fell open with the lack of muscle use in his face. I felt a small grin tug at the corners of my lips. He looked peaceful. The lines between his eyebrows were mere impressions in his skin, just barely a reminder of his perpetual concern. His fleshy hand, though, clutched at his shirt, holding it in his fist. The only sight of distress, I reached out before I knew what I was doing, and laid my palm on the back of his fist. His hands were taut with tension, but I felt the slightest bit of release under the pressure of my warm skin. His fingers slowly unwrapped from their deadly grip on his shirt, loose enough for me to lift his hand up and away from the fabric.

Unconsciously, he found my fingers, gently wrapping them around his own. My stomach flipped.  _We're holding hands._

Such a trivial thing to say in a mostly meaningless moment. I felt like a teenager with her first boyfriend. But I was not a teenager, Bucky was not my first boyfriend, and he wasn't even awake. He wouldn't remember this when he opened his eyes.

Oh, but then he was. His eyelids fluttered open, fatigue casting a misty fog over his features. First seeing our hands entwined, I watched his eyebrows raise in surprise, then release the knot of tension as he relaxed. I'd begun to rub small circles on the patch of skin that my thumb could reach, smiling in smugness as he let a shaky breath out through his lips.

Then Bucky shifted his eyes to mine. He didn't do anything outright, but I was good at seeing the soft recognition in a person's eyes after having gone through an ordeal. I'd seen it several times with Sam.

Blinking up at him, I let my lips curl in greeting. "Morning, soldier," I teased gently.

He ripped his hand out of mine and stood up hastily, scrambling to his feet. The way his chest rose and fell with labored breaths gave me the idea that I'd done something very,  _very_ wrong. He was stumbling through the room, grabbing a pair of jeans and aiming for the doorway.

"Bucky?" I asked, hesitantly standing up. "What'd I do?"

He shook his head sharply, squeezing his eyes shut. "Stop it," he said, his voice barely a hoarse whisper.

My shoulders slumped with guilt. "Bucky, I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't," he interrupted, his eyes hard and voice cold. He leaned into the doorframe as if he wished he could sink into the wood, disappearing from my view. "Stay away from me."

I didn't realize that I'd been stepping closer to him, trying to reach him, to  _touch_ him, like I had been nearly two minutes ago. My feet stopped abruptly. Holding my hands up in front of me, I tried to let him see that I was of no danger to him.  _Unless it isn't me he's afraid of causing harm,_ I thought with a skipping heartbeat.

He clenched his jaw once, then spun away and down the hall. I hurried after him, calling out his name again before the bathroom door clicked shut. Less than a minute passed before he came back out, looking up and down the hallway, latching his eyes on mine. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stalked out, aiming for the front door.

"Bucky, please talk to me," I pleaded, following him quickly.

Bucky's words were cutting. "Why should I?" He said, a hint of a sneer curling his words. "We barely know each other."

The pain of his throwing my words back at me rumbled in my chest and I couldn't do anything to stop him from storming outside.

It seemed like he just needed some space. And I would give it to him. Besides, that was the only consistent part of our... _acquaintanceship_. We get closer, almost talking normally, then I screw it up, he storms off, we take time for ourselves, then I try to make things right, and then we go on for the rest of the day on thin ice. It was getting exhausting. But I couldn't bring myself to chase after him. Not yet.

————————————————————

"Hey, are you okay?"

He grunted and turned his head to show he'd heard me. "What do you think?" He grumbled.

I sighed and crossed my arms. For almost twenty minutes, I'd retreated into my bedroom to inwardly complain about his constant mood swings, but found myself staring out the window at the back of him. He'd gone out to my garden, standing close enough to look like he was checking for growing weeds, but far enough for me to see that he wasn't actually looking at the plants at all. He wasn't looking  _anywhere_. His eyes were closed in deep thought while his hand was at his side, clenching and unclenching in a fist.

And now, I was here, playing my role in our sick little script of this short-lived friendship. "Okay," I sighed, "I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, or said, or why it was so offensive to you, but I'm  _sorry_."

He turned around slowly. "You can't apologize for something you don't know you did."

I shrugged, throwing my hands up in the air. "Well, at least I did it, right? Because I'm pretty sure you're not willing to talk about your past, no matter how much closer we get over these few weeks." I stepped closer to him, frustration ebbing out of my pores. "Honestly, Bucky, how do you expect to stay here and  _not_ get to know each other? It's  _not possible._ "

He shook his head. "I'll manage."

I groaned. "I mean, come on. We just  _slept together._ "

Bucky cocked an eyebrow, his lips tugging up in amusement.

"That's not what I meant," I stammered, cheeks burning with embarrassment, "we didn't...I meant that we...we slept—we slept in the same bed, but nothing else...happened."

The slight amusement fell from his face, and I found myself missing it. "That's not how I work," he said softly. "I don't make friends."

"What about Steve?"

"That's different. That was before...everything."

"Fair enough. But Sam?"

He scowled. "He's not even a friend." Licking his lips, he shook his head again. "I just met him."

I slowly sidled up to him, leaving a few feet between us as I looked up into his sparkling, sad eyes. "Well, I'm awfully good at making friends. So I accept the challenge with open arms." I grinned at his look of surprise. "We'll be friends soon. You'll see, Bucky."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update! yayy!! hope you guys are liking this story!


	11. A Budding Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elda Reid thought she knew what she was getting into when her best childhood friend told her that he would be fighting crime with Captain America himself. But she didn’t think it would bring three uninvited guests to her doorstep one rainy night. And she definitely didn’t expect one of them to stay.
> 
> OR
> 
> In which a haunted man finds his safe haven in a girl full of dreams.

There was noway in  _hell_ we would be friends.

"You're out of your mind," he grumbled, stuffing his hand into his pocket. "I'm  _not_ letting you do that."

For my whole life, I'd always refused to listen to anything I didn't want to hear. Maybe this time, I should have stopped after he shot down the idea about four million times. But I found myself rolling my eyes, placing my hands flat on the countertop as I stared at the tall, dark-haired man in front of me.

When he didn't move a muscle, I threw my hands up in the air, a scoff falling from my lips. "Why not? It's become such a problem in the last few weeks, it's time you take care of it."

He flashed his dark eyes at me. "I like it."

Cocking an eyebrow, I crossed my arms and jutted a hip out to the side. "You look like a grown man trying to go back to his emo phase in high school. And, dare I say it, you sound like it, too. You need to find ways to lighten up, or you're never gonna find a girlfriend."

Bucky glared at me but said nothing.

I shrugged, letting a smirk grace my lips. "It's the truth, Mr. Barnes. Just let me clean it up. You'll be just as rugged and ' _I'm a handsome nineteen-forties boy_ ' as before." My cheeks flushed pink at the words that flew from my mouth, cursing my unfiltered mind.

He didn't seem to notice, however, simply shaking his head and scoffing in response.

"I'm not letting you cut my hair."

Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to start out our friendship with changing the way he looked. I'll admit it, I was wrong. But that didn't mean I would drop the subject.

"Come on, Buck, we could completely shave it off, I'm sure you'd look just as good with short hair!" I tried to convince him, following him around the kitchen as he actively dodged me and my requests to cut his hair. 

He shook his head, his curtain of locks waving with the motion. His eyes were clouded with the past as he replied simply, "I'm not that person anymore."

Sighing, I stomped after him as he went for the front door, presumably heading for the garden. "You can't keep doing that!"

"Doing what?" He retorted, his angry steps turning into more of a brooding strut. The sunshine hit his hair, making it appear golden for a moment before I blinked the glow away. 

I sped up to fall into step with him, stopping once we reached the edge of the thick trees surrounding my isolated house. "Running away from your problems isn't going to work. If you try to forget about them, they'll just keep coming back until they take you out."

Bucky cocked an eyebrow. "Those are some pretty wise words coming from an unemployed gardener."

My jaw went slack. "What are you talking about?"

He shrugged. "You've been at the house for almost a month. No one would let their employee avoid working for a whole month." He smirked. "I'm observant."

Eyes wide, I shook my head. "How do you know that I don't work from home? You know, that I have one of those jobs where I can...work from home? So I can stay home? And...work?" The words stumbled as they fell out of my mouth, my cheeks burning red with embarrassment. It was astounding how flustered his mere presence made me.

His eyes flitted to mine and I felt my stomach flutter as I took note of a lightness in their blue depths. It was a gentle amusement, the clarity of his eyes so out of the blue that I could tell I was seeing someone from the past, someone he'd forgotten the existence of. "You watch movies all day. And if you're not doing that, you're out here, planting new seeds. And if  _that_ isn't the case, you're reading."

I gave him a light shove, chuckling, "you need to stop watching me all the time."

He let a small smile curl his lips upward. My heart hiccupped at the brilliant joy radiating from such a small gesture. I felt a pang of sadness knowing that he'd never smiled since he got here. It was like he was truly as broken as he thought he was. 

But at that moment, I soaked up the warmth in my gut with the realization that  _I'd_ made him smile,  _I_ was the one to find the chink in his armor, no matter how small it was.

"It's like I said," he smirked, "I'm just observant."

"Yeah, okay." I crossed my arms and turned towards him so I was looking right at him. "You know, maybe if you let me trim up the ends, it would--"

"Elda," he said slowly, and even though I knew he was teasing, the hoarseness of his voice and the sound of my name on his lips sent shivers up and down my spine. "We talked about this."

"I'm just saying," I replied, shrugging with my hands held up in front of me. "You have two options: either you let me trim your hair, or I'll french braid it every day for the rest of your life."

He raises his eyebrows. "How about I keep my hair the way it is and you stop pestering me about it?"

"Split ends are known to make a person less attractive to the people around them," I retorted, "it's got the evidence to back it up."

"I don't care what evidence there is or isn't," he grumbled, "I'm not letting you touch my hair."

I smirked.

—

"I can't believe you're actually cutting my hair."

My fingers combed through his brown locks, smirking as he stared astonishingly up at me from his sitting position on the bathroom floor. "I have that effect on people, Barnes. I can convince them to do anything."

He mumbled something unintelligible. "How do I know you can even do it right?"

The pain of a memory stung itself into my mind as I recalled, "I used to cut my brother's hair." Meeting his eyes and flashing a smile, I added, "I think this is the most you've said to me. Like,  _ever_."

He grunted. "What else am I supposed to do? Ignore you?"

A bitter laugh erupted from my throat as I turned away to run the water in the bathtub. "Is that a joke? That's all you've done since you got here."

"Sorry." He stood up and dunked his head under the running water, letting the water flatten his hair to his head, growing heavier with each drop. "I don't mean to, I just...I've forgotten what it's like to have someone want to talk to me."

"Trust me," I said, "I'm in the same boat. After Sam left, I kind of...didn't talk to anyone. I was alone for most of it."

He tilted his head up to look at me but the angle was rather comical, as he was trying to keep his hair from dripping on the floor and himself. But his words were solemn as he asked, "didn't you say that you had a brother?"

I shrugged, rubbing my hands together nervously. "Yeah," I said, cursing myself inwardly for releasing such a personal bit of information, something I'd buried deep inside myself for so long. "He...um, he's gone. He left."

Pursing his lips, Bucky sensed my reluctance to delve into my past and dropped the topic. Silence filled the bathroom for a few more minutes, during which I grabbed a pair of scissors and watched him rinse his hair, surprised at how easily he did it with one hand. Of course, I didn't know how long he'd been living with the one appendage. "Ready?" I asked with a grin when he was finished, his hair drenched. 

He shook his head. "Just don't get too scissor-happy," he mumbled, to which I laughed.

"No promises, Bucky boy," I teased. As I got to work combing his hair and snipping away at the bottom two inches of hair, I felt him relax under my touch, whether I was brushing the lost strands of hair off his shoulder or running my fingers through his hair to check for even ends. I stifled a satisfied smirk. At least it seemed like he was getting more comfortable with me. I knew it would take time for him to completely divulge his memories with me, but that was okay. I wasn't planning on doing it, either. There were some things you had to keep to yourself. 

"You love him, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"What?" I asked, my hands pausing.

He turned his head to look at me with sad blue eyes. "Sam," he explained, "you love him, don't you?"

I turned away to continue cutting his hair, but he jerked his head away before I got the chance. "I don't know what you mean," I said, trying to hide my flushed cheeks as I turned my head to the side.

"I've seen the way you look at him," he replied softly. "When he was here. You couldn't stop looking at him. It was like you couldn't believe he was there."

I nodded. "Yeah, because he'd completely disappeared for three years before. I think that gave me the right to stare a little." My stomach was in knots.  _He couldn't have known. I couldn't have been that obvious, could I?_

He smirked and let out a small, humorless chuckle. "He didn't look at you the same way. He looked at you like a little sister. You looked at him like he was your world." He flicked his eyes to mine. "You love him."

I shook my head. "No, I don't  _love_ him." When he didn't look away, I slumped. "I thought I did, okay? At one point, I thought we could be more than just childhood friends who used to spend every day together. Obviously, he didn't see that."

Bucky held my gaze but his face didn't betray any emotion. No pity, no relief, no satisfaction knowing that the one person I thought I could end up with didn't feel the same about me. Nothing. "Don't look at me like that," I said, reaching out to grab another chunk of hair to clip. "Now come closer, I'm not finished yet."

He moved as I asked, his lips moving slowly. He was whispering something, but I couldn't make it out. When I leaned closer to make sure the ends were even on both sides of his face, he stared at me, holding my eyes until I looked back up at him. "What?" I asked, putting my hands on my hips. "Why do you keep staring at me like that?"

"You deserve better than that."

My attempt to hide the shock at his confession was an utter failure. I stumbled back, nearly falling as I tripped over my own feet. My mouth hung open in surprise.  _Who knew Bucky Barnes actually had feelings?_ I thought fleetingly in my head. 

He reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling me back to a steady stance on my feet. But he didn't let go right away, he held on for a few moments too long to be considered normal, the warmth of his calloused skin brushing against my smooth, unweathered hand. I almost stayed like that. But then I came to my senses, pulling my hand out of his and tucked my hair behind my ear. "All done," I said, a shaky smile on my lips.

As he got up and walked down the hall to his bedroom after giving me a nod of thanks, I held up my left hand, just staring at it for a good minute. Wondering what it would have felt like if I'd kept our hands touching, if I hadn't chickened out and pulled away too quickly. 

I could still feel the imprint of his warm hand against mine as I held it close to my chest, letting out an uneasy breath.  _What are you doing to me, Bucky Barnes?_


	12. Just Checking In

"Leave it alone,it looks fine," I rolled my eyes at his constant movements to adjust the way his freshly trimmed locks fell on his broad shoulders. "It's gonna grow back in, like, two weeks."

Standing in the kitchen, he stayed near the edge of the kitchen, closer to the hallway and watched as I made grilled cheese sandwiches for the both of us. Though I turned my back away from him, I could still feel his brilliant blue eyes on me as the sandwiches sizzled on the frying pan. 

"I haven't gotten a haircut for seventy years," he replied. "Forgive me for being a little  _attached_ to my hair."

I set down the spatula and turned to face him, crossing my arms with a growing smirk on my lips. "Was that a joke?"

He didn't reply, but his mouth turned up at the corners, setting a flurry of butterflies loose in my gut.  _Stop letting your hormones act up,_ I cursed myself silently.

I wasn't sure when his eyes became so bright all of a sudden, or when his glimmer of a smirk became a necessity in the day, or when his mere presence became so comforting. Perhaps it was that little, seemingly empty sentence he uttered only an hour before.

_You deserve better than that._

He obviously didn't realize how significant those words were to me, as he'd just gone on with his day, quiet as usual. But I couldn't stop looking at him. 

Perhaps he was more than what the past made him out to be.  _Perhaps._

When I finished the sandwiches, I reached into the refrigerator to pour each of us a glass of milk but came up empty. "Looks like we're having water," I mumbled to myself, hearing my father's disappointed voice in the back of my head, telling me that a job,  _any_  job, was a necessity to living alone with no one to provide for me. Shrugging off the memory, I grabbed two glasses and filled them with water from the sink. 

Sometimes I wondered how I was still able to pay the bills just off of what I managed to save throughout my life.

As I sat down at the kitchen table with our measly meal, Bucky raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Scowling, I grumbled, "Sorry it's not a five-star gourmet meal made by Gordon Ramsay." When his face scrunched into an expression of confusion, I waved a hand in dismissal. "Never mind."

He shook his head and began eating but I didn't touch my food, unable to let it go. 

"It's not like I haven't had jobs  _before_ ," I said, "I just prefer living off of the plants I grow. There's nothing wrong with that."

Bucky looks up at me in mid-bite, a string of melted cheese swaying from his lips to the sandwich. His eyes flick away from mine, staring in question around the room, obviously unsure of how to react.

"Right?" I continued, picking up my sandwich. "I'm just independent. I don't need anybody's help."

He nodded, swallowing before saying anything. "If it helps you sleep at night."

I rolled my eyes. "I wasn't looking for any sass from you, Barnes," I mumbled, taking a bite. A few seconds passed in silence. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bring you into any of my daddy issues."

Bucky shrugged. "Everyone's got issues. Don't apologize for it."

I grinned softly. "You know, you're really wise when you're not...brooding."

He cocked an eyebrow, taking a sip of water as he stared at me over the rim of the glass. "I'm almost a hundred years old. What do you expect?"

My eyes widened, choking on the bite of grilled cheese in my mouth as I heard him. "I seem to have forgotten about that minor detail."

Bucky smirked.

—

"Why didn't you let me cut it all off?"

"Not this again," he groaned, absently running his hand through his hair. "It's like I said. I'm not that person anymore."

I threw my hands up in the air, flopping down on the couch in a huff. "Oh my god, it's  _hair_. How can you manage to be emo about a  _haircut_?" Pointing a finger at him, I added, "Besides, it would've saved shampoo."

For the second time that night, he gave me a look of pure confusion. "What's emo?"

A sarcastic remark was on the tip of my tongue but the ringing of my phone interrupted the moment. Reaching over to grab it, my eyes sharpened at the unfamiliar number. Cautiously, I held it up to my ear and answered, "Uh, hello?"

"Hey, kid."

The deep rasp of a certain war veteran with a bird suit rumbles through my senses, causing my heartbeat to stutter. "S-Sam?"

"I promised I wouldn't wait another three years to check in, remember?" I heard the lilt in his voice and nearly crumbled with the relief of knowing he was okay. 

"How are you even calling me right now?" I asked, beckoning Bucky to sit beside me, tapping the button that would put the call on speaker. "Aren't you, like, on the run from the whole world?"

"I'd tell you, but that would kind of ruin the purpose of flying under the radar, wouldn't it?" In the background, I could hear Steve's voice, saying something that sounded like, "get to the point."

I glanced up at Bucky, who had tentatively joined me on the couch, perched on the edge of the seat with a straight back. He stared at my phone with an unreadable expression. "So what's up?" I asked, trying to keep a nervous tremor out of my voice.

Sam sighed. "Listen closely, okay? Someone may have dropped a tip to the CIA."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"We don't know if it involves you at all. It could be a bogey. But an anonymous tip came into the organization and ever since, we've had men in fancy-ass black suits on our tracks. We've fallen into sticky situations a few times." His attempt to reassure me of my safety only riled me up about his.

"Sam...this is real. You could get in a lot of trouble if you're caught." My heart clenched in the painful thought of losing another loved one to the law. 

"That's why we won't get caught," he replied, confidence oozing from his words and into my ears. "Just...keep your doors locked for the next few days. And don't go outside."

"O-okay," I mumbled, looking wide-eyed at Bucky, who mirrored my reaction. "You're gonna be safe, right?"

"Of course. What kind of friend would I be if I died on you?"

I glared at the phone. "Don't joke about that, Sam. That's not funny."

"Sorry," he apologizes. "I'll try to call you later. When it's safe."

I didn't say anything in response, just jabbed my thumb on the 'end call' button angrily. "Goddamn it, Sam Wilson," I cursed under my breath. 

Bucky cleared his throat. "I can leave," he said softly.

I jerked my head up to meet his eyes. "What are you talking about? Didn't you hear what he just said? Lock the doors and  _don't leave the house_?"

He looked down. "Yeah, but...you shouldn't have to do all that for me. I can't ask you to risk your safety for me."

Shaking my head, I pointed a finger at his face. "You listen here, Barnes. As strange as our situation is, I'm not letting you sacrifice yourself to those suit-wearing dickheads. I've dealt with those dweebs enough to last a lifetime. So you're staying in this house."

He held up his hand in defeat. "I was just making a suggestion." His eyes flickered to a sense of gratitude. "No one's ever wanted to keep me around. I guess, no one but Steve."

I opened my mouth to reply but the sound stopped me. I swallowed roughly as the noise repeated itself.

A knock at the door. 

"I'd say it's the wrong time for self-pity," I managed to squeak out in a shaky tone. "We've got visitors."


	13. An Unwelcome Surprise

Bucky froze. Slowly flicking his eyes to mine, he brought a finger to his lips, making sure to keep me quiet. His lips moved, but I couldn't decipher his silent message, so I just stared at him with my eyebrows knitted in confusion. "What?" I whispered, so quiet I could barely hear it myself.

He shook his head, giving up on trying to communicate with me and instead leaned in, his dark hair swinging in front of his face. His movement was quick, nothing but pure business; simply an attempt to relay a message, nothing more. But I couldn't help the jittery flip of my stomach as his blue eyes came closer to my brown ones, blinking in practiced steadiness. He'd obviously been forced into a situation much like this one, knowing exactly what to do when unwanted guests knocked on your front door.

When Bucky's eyes met mine, he looked at me pointedly. "Don't move," he whispered, his hot breath fanning over my face from one side to the next; his lips hovered above my ear. The mere sensation was almost enough to make me want to close my eyes and just revel in the deep, rumbling tones of a—

 _Dammit. Not again_ , I groaned inwardly at my instinctive responses. _Just because it’s been awhile since anyone’s been so close like this doesn’t give you the right to start acting up,_ I scolded my hormones. Swallowing roughly, I met Bucky's eyes and nodded slowly.

Rising silently from the couch, he stalked through the kitchen and towards the guest bedroom—which I guess I could have started calling it _Bucky's_ bedroom, since there was no end in sight to his visit. I hovered on the couch, hardly breathing as the world fell silent around me. It was earsplitting, the silence; it tore into my eardrums and ruptured every nerve in my body, prohibiting the rest of myself to process time passing. Time was at a stand still, the fog of nothingness settling over my seated position for what felt like three hours but was probably only three seconds.

When Bucky returned, I almost broke my promise of not moving. My shoulders jerked in response to seeing him hefting a handgun in his right hand. As he glided swiftly across the wood floor, all the while staying out of sight of the front door, I caught a shining glimpse of metal in the belt loop of his jeans.

A knife. Smaller than the ones I had in the kitchen, but probably large enough—and sharp enough—to carve an eyeball out of someone's skull. If needed.

"Wh—where did you get those?" I hissed as quietly as I could. He only flicked his eyes to me for a moment before moving them back to the task at hand, sliding into place behind the front door's hinges, effectively invisible when the door would open.

He dipped his chin towards me, then tilted his head to the door. Now that I didn't have to read anyone's lips, I understood the message clearly: _get up and answer the door_.

I rolled my eyes. Of course I would act as bait. What other purpose did I serve otherwise?

Steeling myself, I gave Bucky one last glare and stood up. Another knock came on the door, this time longer and louder. But for some reason, no one on the outside was saying anything. For the CIA, I have to say that I was expecting something a little more Law and Order-ish. But then again, I only had limited experience with federal law. More than enough to last a lifetime in my opinion, but still limited to a gray-walled room, sitting across from a coffee-drinking agent who would rather buy hair product than actually save lives.

My footsteps were loud against the wooden planks of the floor, seeming to echo throughout the front room. My hands were clammy as they reached out to grab the doorknob, trying to open it swiftly, as if I weren't hiding an assassin in my house, as if nothing were out of the normal.

The door swung open to reveal two figures. Luckily for me, the bright sunlight of midday didn't obscure their faces from view, like the night Bucky had arrived. With a surprised cross between a choking sound and a gasp, my heart skipped a beat and my jaw went slack as I found myself staring at two people who I thought I'd never see near this house again.

" _Mom_?" I asked incredulously. " _Dad_?"

—

Even looking back on this moment, I still struggle to find words to describe the complete and utter shock that struck my body as I recognized my parents in the doorway, holding bags and bearing wide smiles on their weathered cheeks.

"Surprise!" My mother announced in her trademark sing-song voice that used to lull me to sleep. She stepped into the house, forcing me back to let her in.

Scanning the open expanse of my yard, I looked for any sign of the CIA, but my eyes met nothing but open air. Confused, I nearly forgot about the assassin standing behind the front door, prompt and ready to open fire on anyone who threatened his safety.

But a middle-aged married couple was anything but. I just hoped he'd been listening.

As I uncomfortably kept my parents in my sight, I glanced at Bucky, a frozen figure standing five feet behind them, still cornered up against the wall. His look of shock and confusion would have made me laugh in another circumstance, but I had to get him out of the room, keep my parents oblivious to the fact of a highly dangerous, one-armed soldier in my house.

"What are you...what are you doing here?" I asked, stumbling on my words as my primary focus was signaling for Bucky to leave. He was so shocked, it seemed he was glued to the spot.

My dad sported his mischievous grin, the one that my brother Cade grew famous for during his teen years. The reminder of him tugged at my gut. "Your mother wanted to call, but I thought a surprise would be more fun."

Preoccupied with watching Bucky exit the room undetected, my words sounded distant as I replied, "Well, consider me surprised." After he was officially out of view, I could only hope he would stay that way until I could meet him and we could figure this out. Whatever this situation would be. "Surprise me for...what, exactly?" I slid my eyes to meet Dad's again.

My mother raised her eyebrows. "I'm not going to lie, Elda, I'm a little disappointed you didn't remember your parents' wedding anniversary."

I gulped. "Oh!" I tried to cover with an apologetic laugh, but my mind couldn't stop replaying questions about Bucky. "How many years has it been? Twenty? Twenty-five?"

Dad blinked, giving me his best I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that look. "Thirty," he answered.

"So we decided we'd surprise you and stay here for a few days!" Mom chimed in, unable to hide her excitement.

My heart drooped. _A_ _few_ _days_? I didn't know how I would be able to hide Bucky from my over-observant parents for a few hours, much less a few days.

"Of...of course," I smiled, trying to ignore the warning burn in my stomach that told me this was not going to work out. "I'm surprised you wanted to come back to the house," I commented as I took some of their luggage and began hauling it upstairs to their old room. "Was Arizona getting too warm for you?" The sneer in my voice was unintentional. I think.

"We just wanted to see you, Elda," Dad replied, following behind me. "Even if you haven't decided to grow up." The familiar digging words were no surprise, but still made my shoulders hunch in recoil.

Closing my eyes as a wave of annoyance rushed over me, I fought to keep my boiling emotions in check. I shook my head, putting their bags in the old master bedroom and turning around to flash a sickly sweet smile at him. "Well, no one's keeping you here," I said.

My mom tried to stop me from leaving, an awkward laugh tinkling into the dead air, but I shrugged off her hand and went downstairs to look for Bucky.

Perhaps Sam was right. Maybe there would be agents of the CIA on my doorstep soon. But all I knew for sure was that the next few days were going to be long as hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! it’s been probably four or so months since i last updated, but i finally made it back! so...enjoy! i’ve got several chapters ready to go, but i’ll space them out over the next few days and weeks!


	14. Secret-Keeper

He furrowed hiseyebrows. "You're letting them  _stay?_ " He held his hand up in the air, a gesture that would have been harmless, had a  _gun_ not still been in his hand, probably loaded and ready to fire.

"Would you put that thing down?" I cringed, holding out a hand and taking a step back. I got virtually nowhere, though; I'd chosen to pull him into the linen closet furthest from the living room where my parents ended up. Given the stiflingly small space, my attempt at widening the distance between us was futile, pushing my back gently against the cold wall. "How did you even get it, anyway? I seem to remember that you avoided that certain question." I tried to cross my arms and jut a hip to one side but the narrow closet prohibited me from doing so. I only got as far as a twitching movement of my hips, stopped by the door to the closet.

Bucky cocked an eyebrow. "I've had them since I got here. In my room."

 _My room._ How sweet. Hold on.  _Them?_

"There's more than one?" I hissed, hoping my absence from my parents' eyesight hasn't been long enough to be unusual. Then again, I was supposed to be home alone. Arguing with a 1940s ghost story in my linen closet took it a little off schedule. I shook my head lightly. "Never mind. We'll talk about it later."

He sheepishly put down the gun, putting the safety back on and stuffing it in the waistband of his jeans. "Sorry," he whispered hastily, "I just thought..."

"I know. Me too."

He sighed shakily, his hot breath clouding my senses for a few glorious moments where I wasn't stuck in a closet with my parents nearly twenty feet away, unaware of anything out of the ordinary going on in their daughter's house. Where I wasn't me and he wasn't him and we were just two people, a measly six inches apart, so close I could touch him,  _hold_ him, if I so desired. 

But no. Life was much more complicated than that. 

"Your parents." His voice, had it been at a normal volume, would have instilled an icy waterfall down my spine. "Did you know they were coming?"

I shook my head vigorously, anxious for the coming days to play out. "No, I swear. If I did, I would have told you."

"Why are they staying?"

My eyebrows furrowed. "They're my  _parents._ "

He stared at me in the darkness. "So?"

I lifted my eyebrows, trying to relay a message without making too much noise. " _So_ ," I drawled in a loud whisper that threatened to float outside into the hallway, "I can't just send them back to Arizona. They flew across the country to see me for their anniversary."

"That you forgot," he pointed out, taking a hot poker and stabbing me through the heart with it. 

I rolled my eyes. "Thank you for that kind reminder." Waving a hand dismissively, I continued, "As far as they know, I've been living alone without a job, tending to my garden and being an anti-social lump of skin and bones."

His nose scrunched up in gentle disgust. "That's a bit morbid."

Nodding, I crossed my arms. "If it weren't for their money helping me out, I would have been out on the streets a long time ago, and you wouldn't have even met me." I pointed a finger at his chest, nearly brushing my fingertip against his shirt. 

"That doesn't give them an excuse to degrade your successes."

I covered my blush with a light chuckle. "There you go again. Dropping your wise words like it's nothing."

Bucky scoffed. "Forgive me for telling the truth."

"They're my parents," I repeated, "I owe them everything. For the next few days, you're just gonna have to...lay low. Stay out of sight."

He shifted on his feet, seemingly uncomfortable. "Nothing new, then."

My shoulders drooped. "I'm sorry, Bucky. But it'll only be for the weekend. Once they're gone, everything--"

"Elda!" I heard a muffled call for me, presumably from the living room where my parents were. 

I let out a breath. "That's my cue," I said begrudgingly. "Just stay in your room...or something. I'll get you some food later tonight." Then, more to convince myself than him, "It's all gonna be fine. We'll get out ahead of this. They won't find out."

As I opened the closet door and distanced myself from the warm space by Bucky, I felt my stomach clench in anxiety.  _Oh, how I hope they won't find out._

————————————————————

When I entered the living room, I found my dad standing up, holding a remote and repeatedly pressing the 'on' button, then smacking it against his palm in an attempt to solve his problem. Spoiler alert: it didn't. 

My mother, however, who was on the couch, turned around to meet my eyes. "Where'd you go?" She asked and then pointed to Dad. "He can't figure out the TV again."

Dad mumbled something unintelligible, but his tone was laced with frustration. "The batteries are out again. Just like last time."

I shook my head. "No, Dad, you're using the wrong remote. That's for the movies, not the TV. Here, use this one." I reached for the correct remote, handing it to him. The screen switched on immediately. Dad only huffed, unable to accept that he was wrong.

A characteristic that, conveniently, ran in the family. 

"What took you so long?" Mom asked again, and I was unable to avoid the question.

_Well, I was actually hiding in my linen closet with a trained, one-armed assassin from the 1940s who just so happens to be on the run from the CIA. Just the usual stuff, nothing strange at all._

"Uh...the bathroom," I said, stuffing my hands into my pockets.  _Great save, El._

My dad turned to look at me, eyebrows raised in alarm. "You should probably get that checked out," he said calmly, in all seriousness. 

I blushed furiously and sat down in a chair. While my eyes were on the television screen, my mind went straight to Bucky, wondering where he was and what he was doing. Hoping that he wouldn't pull any stunt that would cause everything to crash and burn around us. Of course, I couldn't really do anything about that while I was sitting here with my oblivious parents. 

How good it felt to be lying straight to their faces, hiding something right under their noses. 

"Aren't you going to ask us if we'd like something to drink?" Dad interrupted my thoughts with his raspy voice, jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen. 

It took all of my willpower to keep a string of curse words from falling off my tongue. I clenched my fists for a second, then put on a sickly sweet smile and asked, "Would either of you care for a refreshment? Your options are water or hydrogen monoxide."

"Don't be smart, Elda, it's rather unattractive," my mother scowled at me as I stood up to fill two glasses of water.

"How many times do I have to tell you," I sighed, handing them the cups and putting my hands on my hips, "I'm just fine on my own. I don't need to be in a relationship, I'm not looking to be married just yet."

Mom sipped her water. "You know, I got married when I was twenty-two," she said, winking. 

I shook my head. "The answer's still no. I'm not looking for a life partner right now."

Bucky's face flashed in the back of my mind. An angry wave of confusion wiped it away just as quickly as it had come. 

Dad shrugged. "We're just looking out for you, Elda. We don't want you to throw your life away...like Cade did. We love you, that's all."

I nodded solemnly, the intentional mention of my brother acting as a punch to the gut. "I know." I sat down in my chair again and folded my legs beneath me.  _You've got a hell of a way of showing it_ , I grumbled inwardly. 


	15. Calm Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking so long to update! every chapter is now finished and edited, so expect lots of updates today!

The bottom ofthe plate nearly burned my hand as I set it down on the bed, disrupting the peace of his bedroom. Stepping back to flick on the lights to the space, I closed the door and surveyed the area, my eyes landing on Bucky. 

He hadn't moved from his place since I'd entered the room, just kept his back facing me as he sat in one of the two cushioned chairs that furnished the room, his head resting on the back of the seat. With a few steps closer, I could see his legs, stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle and perched on the windowsill in front of him. He was just staring at the trees of the forest that kept us from public view, their leaves gently illuminated by the moonlight. It seemed like he didn't realize I'd even entered the room.

But then he shifted his feet and spoke, his tone, scratchy from lack of use, scraping across my fingers, up my arms and grazing my collarbone on its way into my ears. "About time, doll," he said.

 _Doll_. The endearing word caused me to lose my breath, but only for a moment, before I replied, "I came as soon as I could. My parents are night owls, they've never gone to bed earlier than ten o'clock. I would have come sooner if it was possible, I swear."

Bucky stood up, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips, accompanied by a black t-shirt on his upper half. He shrugged. "I wasn't that hungry anyway," he said nonchalantly, but a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, giving him away. 

"Just be happy I was able to bring you anything," I joked, crossing my arms and jutting a hip out. "Next time, I might just... _forget_."

His eyes got wide, displaying mock fear. "You wouldn't." Raising his eyebrows at the hot meal of homemade pizza on his plate, he added, "Aren't you going to yell at me for eating on the bed?"

I rolled my eyes. "Just eat it, old man." I grinned as he sat down, bringing the plate closer to him and took a bite of the pizza. Turning the chair so I would face him, I sat down and stifled a yawn. "When did you get so...laidback?"

Bucky chewed, furrowing his eyebrows at the words. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," I sighed, leaning forward and putting my elbows on my knees, my chin in my hands, "you used to be so uptight about everything. Now, you're...staring out of windows in the dark and watching the trees."

He smirked again, tugging an invisible line between the two of us, making me want to be closer to him, even by just an inch. I leaned even more, something to ease the tugging sensation, but just small enough it would go unnoticed. Even by him. "What can I say, the trees are  _fascinating_."

I raised my eyebrows. "Don't do that. I just want to talk, none of that, 'I don't get affected by anything' crap."

Bucky blinked, flicked his eyes down to his plate, where he'd returned the piece of pizza to look at me. "Sorry," he said softly, folding his hands and holding eye contact with me, so intensely it felt as if a hole was being drilled into my head, "it's just...you calm me down."

My mouth went dry. I swallowed roughly and hung my head, composing myself as best I could before meeting his eyes again. When I did, he was playing with the drawstring of his sweatpants, fiddling like a child would. "I..." I couldn't form a coherent sentence for what felt like an hour. "I calm you down?" 

He let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, I know, sounds kind of like bullshit."

I shook my head. "Believe me, it doesn't." I smirked, waiting for him to look at me so he knew I was only joking when I added, "not really."

His lips curled up into a small smile, one that sent butterflies down my spine.  _What I would give for him to smile like that every day for the rest of his life_ , a voice confessed in my mind. 

"It helps, you know," I said, my voice quiet due to the late hour of the night. "Having someone in your corner. You don't have to go through this alone."

He shifted his eyes over to mine lazily. "Go through what?" he deadpanned. 

I shrugged. "I don't know, being away from Sam and Steve? Being locked up in here with me?"

"And your parents," he interrupted.

I waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, that's beside the point. I'm just saying that you shouldn't shut yourself off. It won't do you any good."

His face took on a scornful expression for a second as he remarked, "which PTSD textbook did you get that one out of?"

Shaking my head again, I replied softly, "I have a lot of experience with PTSD, first-hand."

Bucky scoffed. "Wilson," he grumbled.

"Okay, what's your problem with Sam? He's done nothing wrong and in case you forgot, he's out there risking his life just so you can stay a free man." My words came out in an icy manner.

He glanced around the room. "You call this freedom? Hiding out in a stranger's house and eating pizza under the curtain of the night just to avoid being caught by your parents?" Bucky rolled his eyes and stood up, stalking towards me. "Yeah, real freedom. Captain America would be proud."

Glaring at him, I rose to my feet as well, trying to even the playing ground but being terribly disappointed, as he still had a good three or four inches on me, causing me to tilt my head up just the slightest in order to keep my eyes trained on his while standing mere inches apart. 

"I'm sorry the current...circumstances aren't as comfortable as they could be. But you can't just dodge my question that easily. Why do you shut down whenever I mention Sam?"

His eyes darkened. "I could ask you the same about your brother. Cade." 

I inhaled a sharp breath, shock at his words causing a bowling ball to drop in my stomach. "That...that was a low blow," I whispered, clenching my hands in fists. "I don't have to tell you everything about my life. Some things are personal."

He leaned forward, seemingly basking in my discomfort. "Likewise, doll," he hissed.

The room was silent apart from my shaky breathing. I took a step away from him, my calves bumping into the chair, an obstacle in my path to the door. Swallowing the rising lump in my throat, I bit back a string of curses I was anxious to fly at him, and instead settled on a cold delivery. "I hope that pizza was enough," I retorted, "because it looks like I might just forget to bring you breakfast tomorrow."

Bucky's eyes lost some of their hostility when he saw the glossiness in my eyes, but I turned away from him and stalked to the door as quickly as I could before closing the door behind me. I was desperate to let the tears spill from my eyes, but I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction, even if he couldn't see me. So while I tried to keep my emotions in check, like I'd taught myself to do my whole life, I slid down the door and sat in the fetal position against the wood, hugging my knees to my chest. 

_Breathe, Elda. Just breathe. It'll all be over soon._

I could see flashes of a rather handsome teenager, his mop of dark curly hair always in the way of his eyes because  _that was the way he liked it_. He never wanted to get his haircut. He always canceled the appointments that Mom would make for him. 

_In. Out._

He was older. An arm wrapped around my shoulders, he pulled me in for a hug, nearly suffocating me. I didn't care, though. That was how it always was. He squeezed me just a little too tightly, and I complained loudly until he ruffled my hair and let me go. 

_In. Out._

_I'll always be here to chase the monsters from underneath your bed,_ he'd promised when I was six.  _Don't worry, El, I'm your big brother. I'll always protect you._

My breathing technique broke as the memory seared through my mind, nearing physical pain as I tried to hold in the pitiful whimpers falling from my lips.  _You're not here,_ I called out in my head,  _and look what's happened. I need you, Cade._

But he wasn't here. 

Suddenly, the door opened behind me and I almost crashed to the ground if it wasn't for Bucky's hand resting on my back, holding me up. 

Our last words flashed in my head again and I scrambled to my feet, momentarily repulsed by his touch. "What?" I hissed, wiping my eyes furiously. 

He looked at me dejectedly. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't want to make you cry."

I scoffed, wiping my nose with my pajama shirt. "Yeah, well, no one ever really wants to make a person cry." Shaking my head, I retreated and turned to walk away, towards the stairs and up to my bedroom. "I'll see you in the morning, Buck."

"Are you sure you're okay?"  _Those damn blue eyes, they stare right into your soul._

"I'm fine," I said, sniffing and clearing my head, even though tears still ran down my face in a slow, shining trail. "Nothing I can't handle."

I had no doubt that he watched me all the way up the stairs, only closing his door when I was out of sight. 


	16. Not So Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update today, and probably more! get excited, people!
> 
> xoxo laura

My bed was all too welcoming when I finally stumbled my way into the dark room, a wet trail of (now cold) tears falling down my cheeks. The room across the hall, occupied by my parents, was—thankfully—silent, a clear reassurance that they were completely clueless to my late night...encounters. 

Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, I padded over to the dresser and reached for a tissue to blow my nose.  _That damn Bucky Barnes,_ I cursed him in my head,  _when did he begin to have so much power over me?_

But no. I would not allow that power to tighten its grasp on me. He was a stranger. He had no power over me. 

 _He's not much of a stranger anymore, El,_ an annoying, yet clear, voice nagged at me from the back of my mind. 

Deciding I was too tired for such an argument with my inner conscience, I shook my head, threw away the tissues, and practically collapsed on my bed, exhaustion tugging my eyes shut before I could even climb under the covers. 

 

* * *

 

As the night dragged along, the moon shone brightly into the young woman's bedroom, the curtains rustling gently from the slight breeze blowing in through the open windows. Crickets chirped in the nearly black forest, oblivious to the goings-on in the house less than one hundred yards away. 

The door to Elda Reid's door was softly opened, the hinges creaking quietly, albeit loud enough to act as a disturbance to the peaceful silence of the room. The sleeping body in the bed inhaled deeply, her chest rising with the new breath, then falling as she released it. Her legs curled up underneath her, she looked like a small child trying to conserve warmth in the dead of winter. 

Footsteps were not heard on the carpet, but a figure crept forward, reaching out. Their fingers grabbed onto the covers, pulling them back and opening the bed. In an elegance unlike any other, they moved the young woman's legs slowly and soundlessly, leading them to lay underneath the sheets. Tucking the sheets up and under her chin, they patted her hair softly and watched with a fond smile as she grasped onto the blankets tightly, eyes still closed in slumber. 

Careful not to wake the twenty-six-year-old, the figure leaned down and pressed their lips to her forehead with a softness known only to mothers. Her hand still smoothing down the messy head of hair belonging to her daughter, she let a small, sad smile grace her aged face. 

"Sweet dreams, my night owl," she whispered. "Goodnight."

 

* * *

 

It wasn't until the morning sun was glaringly forcing its way into my room when I finally woke up. Rubbing my eyes, I groaned and pushed myself up on my elbows. The sheets fell away from my body and I looked down at them, confused. Either I had crawled underneath them during the night, or someone had come in and tucked me in. 

I chuckled, but with my fatigued muscles from a long night of much-needed sleep, it came out sounding like a strained wheeze. 

Pushing myself out of bed, I ran a hand through my tangled hair—or tried to, more like, as my fingers quickly got stuck in the knots that required a heavy brushing. Ignoring the mess on my head, however, I trampled downstairs, not caring that I was wearing the same clothes I'd been in the day before and had gone to bed in. 

My mother looked up from her book as I entered the kitchen, lifting a mug of coffee to her lips with a small grin on her lips. "Sleep well, honey?" she asked. Her eyes flicked to my haphazard appearance, her smile growing wider.

Taking her words as a stab to my messy hair, I tried desperately to tame it, but to no avail. I hated the way she could unnerve me with her words like that. If only she told me what she  _meant_ , instead of dodging issues with her cryptic messages. 

Of course, our relationship was never squeaky clean. Even when Cade was still around. 

The mention of Cade reminded me of my midnight argument with Bucky, and my hands found my shirt's hem, squeezing into fists. As much as the anger should have dissipated over the last eight hours, I still felt like depriving him of breakfast. He had no right to talk about my brother like that, not without knowing anything about him. Or me.

"Come get something to eat," my mother summoned me to the kitchen, her head tipping down to read her book as soon as she saw me moving. Typical. Never really cared enough to make sure I did something right, just wanted to make sure I did it. 

In a few minutes, I'd made myself a piece of toast. I reached into the cupboard to grab a stick of butter, but instead, I saw a large jar of peanut butter. 

"Mom?" I asked. "Did you buy peanut butter?"

She nodded, eyes never leaving the pages as she turned to the next one. "We assumed that you'd be in need of...restocking your shelves, so we took the liberty of buying your groceries."

While a normal adult would burst with thanks at the thought of their parents buying their food for them, it only bit at my core, flaking into anger as it boiled in my veins. "Oh," was all I could manage without giving her a snarky remark at nine in the morning. 

"A simple 'thank you' would suffice," she chastised lightly. 

Rolling my eyes and grabbing the peanut butter, I bit out a, "thanks, Mom," feeling like a scolded child after breaking the rules.

The morning was relatively uneventful until Mom looked up from her book (finally) and gestured for me to follow her. My hands began to sweat as I noticed that she was heading down the hallway leading to Bucky's room. The door was still closed, but I didn't know what to expect with this unusual intervention. 

Following her nonetheless, I wiped my clammy hands on my shirt, waiting for her to drop the bomb, that she knew I was harboring an international criminal in my guest bedroom and that I was going to be forced to turn him in to the CIA, that I would never see him again, that I would have to pretend I'd never known him—

"Are you alright, El?" She asked, stopping in front of a closed door. But it wasn't the closed door that would open into Bucky's room. It was the door to  _his_ room. Cade's room. I hadn't opened that door in years, not counting the time I grabbed extra clothes for the three men when they stayed over for a few nights. 

Looking up at her, I tried to read her facial expression and figure out if she was on my trail. Of course, I was never a good detective. It was part of the reason that I was unemployed. "What do you mean?" I replied, crossing my arms and trying to seem nonchalant. Although nothing about this situation was nonchalant. 

"I...forgive me if I'm mistaken," she started out, her sharp eyes piercing mine, "but I thought I heard you talking last night."

My blood turned to an icy slush.  _She knows she knows she knows she knows she knows_ —

"I don't know what you were saying, but you sounded upset. I wanted to know..." she paused, seemingly unsure of how to go on. "I wanted to know how you're handling things." Tilting her head to the side, she angled her face to the closed door of my brother's room. 

Furrowing my eyebrows, I threw my hands up. " _Handling_ things? How am I  _handling things_? You make it sound like Cade was some...dark cloud on our life. Some unspeakable time in our life that we're not allowed to talk about."

Mom held her hands out and tried to hold mine, but I tore them away from her reach. "Elda, I know it's been hard—"

"It's been  _hard_?" I scoffed, my words rolling off my tongue in icy, jagged shards. "I'd say that's the understatement of the century. He was my  _brother_ , the most important person in the  _world_ to me, and you expect me to never talk about him? In case you forgot, he was  _your son_ , too!"

She flinched and I reveled in the feeling of causing her the pain I'd felt. 

"Stop trying to understand me. Stop trying to read into everything that I do and expect to come out with a philosophical explanation that makes me seem like an emotionally damaged teenager!" I hissed, practically spitting the words in her face like venom. "You don't get to know everything about me anymore. You lost that privilege a long time ago."

Mom didn't say anything, her eyes wide with shock, a glassy coating of hurt that shone in the sunlight. Wiping her hands on her shirt, she took a deep breath, gathered herself, and walked away, back towards the kitchen. She distanced herself with every step, in every meaning of the phrase. 

I hung back for the next few minutes, trying to keep my built up anger from coming out again in the form of a torn up scream. I couldn't give her that satisfaction. I would keep it together, I would hold in the anger, because letting it out would only make things worse.

Slowly wandering back to the living room, I hovered by Bucky's door. I knew I needed to talk to him, but I was in no mood to do it now. Still, I couldn't move my feet from their position in front of his door, unwilling to walk away.

Then, I heard it. Just loud enough for me to hear it. A tapping on the door, coming from inside the room. Nothing to it, just two soft taps on the wooden barrier between two broken, barely healing people. 

But knowing he was there, standing just behind the door, caused a gentle smile to rise to my face. In that moment, I felt a little less alone.


	17. Side of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry that i've left this story to hang dry a little, i've been really busy! but now all of the chapters for this book are done, so you might be getting a ton of reading material today!!

"I don't thinkthose daisies would appreciate the aggressively tight grip," I heard a voice approaching me as I knelt in the dirt of my garden, angrily clutching the flowers at their roots and pulling them up faster than what was recommended. After the... _altercation_ with my mother that morning, I'd reached for my gardening gloves and bucket of tools, immediately storming out of the house to my...well, my happy place.

And here came my father to mess it up. 

"Yeah, well," I grumbled, unable to think clearly enough to come up with a response. Sitting back on my heels, I crossed my arms and stared ahead at the forest surrounding my house.

"You know," he began, edging nearer to me, "your mother only wants to see how you're doing."

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well that I was acting like a dramatic teenager. "Yeah, I noticed."

My father sighed. For a few seconds, he didn't say anything, contemplating how he should continue. He was always like that, for as long as I could remember. Always calculating, making sure his responses were perfect. It drove me nuts because he always gave me the same look. That look that said,  _you disappoint me._

"Look, Elda, I just wish that you would get a job. The way you live..." I turned to glare at him as he threw his hands out around him. "It's too unconventional for it to be sustainable. What happens when you want to go on vacation? Or when you want to start a family? You need your own money for that."

Letting out a loud, frustrated groan, I returned to picking flowers and planting new seeds, grumbling, "I don't want to get married."

"You can't keep living in this fantasy, Elda." His voice changed from a gentle, I-want-to-make-it-sound-like-I'm-an-understanding-parent tone to a harder, you-will-listen-to-what-I-tell-you-to-do tone. "One day, you're going to need some serious money. Just because the house is paid off and your mother and I keep sending you money doesn't mean that you're going to have that luxury forever. You need to start thinking about the future."

Scoffing, I shook my head. "I'm going to be just fine. You guys need to relax and  _trust me_. Stop trying to control my life, and we'll both be happy." Standing up, I grabbed my gardening tools and the newly picked flowers, pushing past my dad. Trudging back up to the house, I pretended not to hear him curse angrily under his breath. His habit brought back too many memories. 

I had to get them out of my house. This weekend was going slower than I wanted it to. 

* * *

 

With my parents choosing to go spend the afternoon in town—an offer I quickly declined—I was alone to calm myself down. And, of course, bring some lunch to the visitor I'd temporarily forgotten about in the wake of my parents. 

The daisies I'd picked were freshly cut and put in a vase when I carried them to Bucky's room. I was able to walk right in, as the door was open and the room was empty. The bed was made neatly—well, as neatly as one could with one arm. I walked over to the windowsill and set down the flowers, a small, perhaps corny, way of bringing light into the room. I was sick of making him just stay inside all day like a dog. But I couldn't risk my parents finding out about him. 

A faint sound of water running upstairs lured me from his room, climbing the stairs to my bathroom. Knocking on the door, I called out, "Bucky?"

"Yeah?" I heard him answer, and then the sound of the shower curtain closing.  _Oh my god._

"Oh, uh, sorry for bothering you. I was just wondering...what are you doing in my bathroom?" I squeezed my eyes shut and rested my forehead on the closed door, cringing at my words.

There was a pause, then a verbal smirk as he replied, "You mean, why am I not using the one downstairs?"

"Uh...yeah."

"I thought it would make more sense for that bathroom to remain unused. If I'm not supposed to be here, there can't be a trace of me." The answer was so simple, so cookie-cutter perfect that it made me sad. He couldn't go anywhere without that intense feeling of dread. He had to be invisible. 

Downstairs, the front door opened. "Elda?" It was my mother.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," I hissed, turning back and forth, not knowing what to do. "Uh, what do you need, Mom?" I called out, about to go down and meet her. Anything to keep her from knowing there was a criminal in my bathroom, taking a shower. 

"I think I left my sunglasses in the bathroom, I'm coming up to get them." Hearing her steps on the stairs, I panicked and opened the door, stepping inside. I could see her sunglasses on the counter, but with the water running, I knew I'd raise suspicions. 

She knocked on the door, and I stared at it, unable to move. "Are you in the shower? Can I just come in and grab them?"

Pushing all doubts out of my head, I grabbed the shower curtain in my fist and stepped into the shower, clothes and all. Bucky turned around at the sound, eyes wide as saucers as he noticed me. My hand clamped on his mouth, giving him the signal to be quiet. His dark hair hung around his shoulders in wet strands, dripping onto his shirtless torso. I swallowed roughly, trying to remember the reason I deliberately stepped into a shower with a very naked stranger. 

"Yeah, you can grab them," I called out, keeping my eyes on the ceiling. The door opened and I heard her walk in.

"You know, it was the funniest thing, El. I was at the farmer's market with your father and I kept reaching for my sunglasses on my head, but I couldn't find them! So I—"

Rolling my eyes, I replied, "Funny, Mom. I can't talk right now, I'm washing my face." Flicking my eyes down to Bucky's, I could see his blue eyes spark with amusement, and his lips began to curl into a smirk beneath my hand.

"Alright, alright, I'll see you after we get back," she said, and I heard her disappear from the bathroom, the door closing behind her.

"Take all the time you need," I said bitterly. Waiting a minute or two for her to leave, I finally removed my hand with a sigh. 

"You know, doll, I didn't think we were such close friends," Bucky smirked, turning around to continue washing off. I assumed his nonchalance about being naked in front of me came from being in the military, privacy a virtually unknown luxury. 

"Friends?" I grinned. "I told you that you'd warm up to me, Barnes." I let my eyes wander around his back, following his broad shoulders to his muscular back, muscles contracting with his movements. I shook my head to get my mind out of the gutter. 

He turned around and raised his eyebrows. "Are we really having this conversation right now? Here?"

Remembering our compromising position, I let out a squeaky "Oh!" and brought a hand to my eyes, feeling around for the shower curtain and letting myself out, my wet feet soaking into the bathroom mat. 

As I rushed to leave the bathroom, I heard him speak again. "That was fun, Elda. Let's do it again sometime." I choked. 

"That was a joke, wasn't it?" I turned back to stare at the shower curtain. "Are you making  _jokes_ now?"

There was a pause before he answered, "I haven't joked in awhile. It felt good."

With my hand on the doorknob, I replied softly, "I like this side of you." Before I could hear the repercussions of my words, I swiftly left the room and ran downstairs, breathing deeply to calm myself down. Not only had he made a joke, speaking more to me than he ever had before, he seemed...happier. Less nervous. I couldn't tell if that would turn out to be a good or bad thing yet. 

But then there was the other thing. He called me  _doll_ again. It fell from his lips so perfectly, it made sense to think of him being fawned over by crowds of girls in the 1940s, before his life got fucked up. The nickname made my stomach tingle, clenching up in the way that says,  _do it again, say it one more time._ And dare I say it, I  _liked_  it. 


	18. A Cover Blown

When he gotout of the shower, I was in the kitchen, slicing tomatoes and frying bacon on the stove, desperately trying to forget our...compromising position in the shower only fifteen minutes ago. The way the water droplets dripped down his golden skin, inviting me to run my hand along his broad shoulders, graze my nails down his chest, let my fingers curl into his hair, and—

"Isn't it a little late for lunch?"

I jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. Keeping my face turned away from him, I overcompensated my action of checking on the bacon, looking a little too closely at the strips of meat to look natural. But I had to keep him from seeing my flushed cheeks, turning pink from being caught in the middle of such sinful thoughts. 

 _Having him here has really made my hormones go wild,_ I thought bitterly,  _and he doesn't even know it._

"Uh, yeah, but I never brought you any today, so I'm guessing you're pretty hungry?" The toaster went off, four crispy pieces of toast popping up. I grabbed the bread and slathered mayonnaise on each piece, topping it with lettuce, two slices of tomato, and a few strips of bacon. I took the liberty to perform these actions as slow as possible, to give my face some time to cool down and return to its normal pallor. 

He paused before replying as if he was waiting for me to turn around with the plates. "You know, I've gone longer than that without eating," he said with a straight face but took the sandwich from me anyway. This time, it didn't take the normal time for Bucky to slowly sit down at the table; he did it of his own accord. I felt a smile tug at my lips upon seeing his growing comfort in the house, however small it was. 

"You know, maybe it's not a good idea to be eating out here where your parents could walk in and see me," he added, saying the words with such ease that I felt my heart clench. 

I shrugged. "I don't want to make you feel like a prisoner when you're here." Swallowing, I sent him a gentle smile. "You're not."

He stared back at me with blank eyes, no hint of the joking Bucky from twenty minutes ago. All I could see were the deep depths of his blue eyes, my own reflection swimming in them. His eyes stared me up and down, studying me,  _analyzing_ me. I ducked my head to avoid his penetrating gaze. 

Shaking his head, he said, "When do your parents leave?"

Shrugging again, I answered, "I thought they were going to leave yesterday, but it seems like they have no intention of leaving anytime soon." I looked up at him guiltily. "But I can force them out if you want me to."

Bucky chuckled breathily, his fingers tracing the lines of the wood on the table. "You don't have to do that for me."

"What if—"

The front door opened then, causing my parents to appear in the living room. From where we were sitting, Bucky only had a few seconds to hide before our cover was blown to shards. He left his plate sitting on the table, carrying his half-eaten BLT in his hand as he raced to his room, softly closing the door behind him. Jumping up, I grabbed the plate and proceeded to wash it in the sink, ignoring the fact that I had a perfectly good dishwasher just two feet away from the sink. But I needed to keep my hands busy if I was going to make my parents believe it was just me in the house. 

"Oh, Elda, you  _have_ to go to the farmer's market, it's just  _wonderful_!" My mother sang her words as she waltzed into the kitchen with bags of what looked like fresh fruits and veggies. Her steps silenced, however, as she saw me washing two plates. "Having lunch with a friend, my dear?" She asked, her voice giving away her suspicion.  _Shit._

Using my not-so-quick brain skills, I made up a lie: "No, I was just really...hungry." I smiled sheepishly and held up the two plates. 

My mother's dark eyes landed on me, her lips curling down in a disappointed frown. It took all my willpower not to snap at her right then. Controlling my life and how I lived it was  _not_ her job anymore. In fact, it never should have been a part of her parenting...curriculum. 

She goes on, saying something about the groceries she just bought, telling me about how good they looked and other information that I just  _don't care about_ , leaving me to reflect on my last words with Bucky. If it weren't for my invasive parents barging in on us, I would have finished my sentence, answering his defeated statement. He didn't want me to do things for him, to take such risks, but I would have answered,  _what if I want to? What if I want to take those risks for you?_

Goddamn, I was in deep. 

"Anyway, they're for you. We thought you might want some help buying groceries because you're so..." she looked around the room with a sneer of disgust, " _busy_ all the time."

Blood boiling at her words, I let the plate clatter on the counter and turned around to face her. "Actually, I'm fine, Mom, thanks. Now that I think of it, it's been  _much longer_ than just a  _weekend_. Maybe it's time you go back to your perfect little life in Arizona, don't you think?" My fists were clenched, so I crossed them in front of my chest, trying not to show how much her snarkiness affected me. 

She shrugged. "Yes, I can see how much we're  _interrupting_ your...relaxing life here."

"You really are," I snarled at her. "You can take your  _carrots_ and go."

My dad entered the room with his hands up. "Sheathe your claws, ladies," he said, a forced lightness to his voice that only made me roll my eyes harder. "We're all family here."

I shot him such a dark glare that he actually flinched.  _Good_ , I smirked to myself. 

"Elda's right," he turned to my mom, "it's about time we get going. Our neighbors are going to think we died on the plane ride here." Looking at me, he nodded in a civil manner. "I'm sure we can find a flight for the day after tomorrow, El. We'll only have to tolerate each other for another thirty-six hours."

Shaking my head and stalking to the stairs, I grumbled, "Fine. Just don't try to make it seem like we get along. There's no one around to impress. Feel free to take a stab at my  _unconventional lifestyle_ a few more times before you leave. That's all you seem to do, anyway."

* * *

 

"They're leaving tomorrow," I whispered in the dark room, sitting in the desk chair beside Bucky's bed, where he was sitting up and listening to my frustrated rendition of the conversation the day before. Waiting into the wee hours of the morning, I balled up my anger and carried it into his room, gently waking him so I could unload it all in front of him. I knew that if I held it in, it would only turn out worse than this "surprise visit" already was. "Only twenty-four more hours to wait."

His eyes didn't leave the closed door. "You're happy." It wasn't a question, it was an observation.

I blinked. "Are you kidding? I can't  _wait._ No more dirty looks at the way I organize my kitchen, or snide remarks at the way that I choose not to mirror their life choices. It's gonna be a great day when they get the hell out of my hair."

It was a second before he replied softly. "You know, I'm going to be glad to be able to walk around freely again, but at least you still have your parents. Mine have been gone for over eighty years."

My ears perked up at that, but then I sighed. "Sorry, I forgot about that. The whole, 'I was a murderous assassin for seventy years and preserved in ice like a piece of meat' was kind of lost on me."

He nodded. "Yeah, well...I'm glad you forgot about it. It's not the most appealing descriptor that I have." 

Catching myself with the words,  _you're a whole lot more than seventy years of destruction_  on my tongue, I blurted, "I'll let you go back to bed. I'll be up in my room if you need anything."

Nodding again, Bucky laid down under the sheets, flat on his back. "Goodnight, Elda."

If it wasn't pitch black in his room, maybe I would have stifled the wide smile that graced my lips at the sound of my name on his lips. It was intoxicating. Maybe I would have stopped myself from lingering at the door, looking at him laying there. The darkness always gives people courage, though. "Goodnight, Buck."

* * *

 

The morning was going smoothly. I was in a bit of a lifted mood after my late-night conversation with Bucky. It was a little alarming, the way that he could change my mood merely with his presence. 

After breakfast, Mom had mentioned something about going around the house and collecting a few more old things to bring back to Arizona, an action that I'd granted without much more of a thought. So she was wandering in the hallway near Cade's old room when it happened. 

She had a few picture frames in her hand of my brother and me, a sentiment that might have made my heart burst with love for my mother if she wasn't such a disapproving bitch. 

I could hear it as soon as it happened. She'd walked up to Bucky's room, noting the closed door. "What did I tell you about closing the doors to empty rooms, El?" She called up to me while I was upstairs changing. I froze with one arm in my sleeve, my eyes wide as saucers. "It blocks fresh air flow."

Maybe it was a cliche, but everything  _did_ happen in slow motion. My clambering steps down the stairs to stop her from opening the door, seeing her face contort into an expression of utter shock as she took in the sight. As I approached the room, I turned to see what she was seeing: Bucky, in all of his one-armed glory, reaching for a shirt to cover his broad chest. And there he was, staring right back at me, his eyes wide like mine. 

My mother looked at me with such anger in her eyes that I couldn't help but meet her eyes. 

"What the hell is going on here?"


	19. The New Alibi

I felt allthe oxygen leave my lungs in one second. I was standing there frozen, immobile for what seemed like hours, though it couldn't have been more than a mere moment.

_She knows she knows she knows she knows--_

"Who are you?" My mother asked him, the words obviously meant for Bucky but her eyes found mine. Filled with accusations that I couldn't decipher, I swallowed roughly and answered for him.

"This is...Michael," I stammered, trying desperately to be convincing. "He's...my boyfriend."

Bucky's eyes widened as if to say,  _that's all you could come up with?_ I grimaced back at him in a silent response.

"What's going on, ladies?" I heard my dad call from the living room, his steps getting nearer as he, too, joined this mess of a situation. "What are you—oh..." he trailed off as his eyes landed on Bucky, who was now pulling a shirt over his strong torso.

"Her boyfriend, Michael," Mom spoke, pointing gently at him. "Why didn't you tell us, Elda?" She crossed her arms and stared me down as I tried to come to grips with my impulsive reply.

I shrugged. "I don't know, I was just..."

"She wasn't sure you would approve of me," Bucky cut in slowly, brushing his shirt down over his abdomen, a surprisingly smooth movement, considering his one-armed status. "It's not every day your daughter meets someone like me," he added, holding out a hand in greeting.

My mother awkwardly shook his outstretched hand, stumbling over her words as she said, "we have no issue with Elda seeing someone with such a...disability." Her eyes flicked to his stumped shoulder. I looked over to my father and saw that his eyes were unblinking, unable to look away from the lack of a limb. The whole situation made me want to run myself over with a bus.

Bucky chuckled. "No, I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the fact that I'm—" I shot him a look that told him to be  _very careful_ of his next sentence. His closed his mouth and grinned. "Well, let's just say that I'm a very  _unique_ individual."

I had to smirk at his remark. "That's quite the understatement, Buck," I mumbled, blinking up at him and blushing when I noticed that his expression mirrored mine.

My father shook Bucky's hand next, nodding in the typical masculine manner that usually befell fathers who were meeting their daughter's significant other for the first time. "Nice to meet you, Michael..."

"Carter," he answered the open question. "Michael Carter." The quick response startled me, causing my eyes to meet his again, the question clear. He shook his head slightly, just enough for me to see and understand.  _Later._

My dad smiled a tight-lipped smile. "It's nice to meet you, Michael Carter." He stepped back and waved a finger between the two of us, adding, "So how long has this been going on?"

"Would it be a completely awful idea for us to have this conversation somewhere other than the guest room? Perhaps in the living room?" I said, gesturing back down the hall.

"Yes, of course, sorry for the interrogation," Dad said, beckoning us to follow him. With my mother right behind him, I waited for Bucky and fell into step beside his taller figure. Close enough to pass as a couple, but far enough away that it wouldn't push his boundaries.

"Why were you so apprehensive about them staying here?" he whispered in my ear, and it was hard to focus on the question when his stubble scraped against my ear clumsily due to the movement. "They're so kind."

I scoffed quietly and raised an eyebrow up at him. "Are you really that dense? They're only being nice to you because they've got someone new to impress. They're obsessed with keeping the facade of a perfect, unbroken family up." I looked forward and felt my throat close up. "But it's all bullshit," I choked out.

We'd previously been walking about a foot away from each other, but I felt his arm brush up against mine for a second, the back of his fingers reaching out to gently tap the inside of my wrist. It was only for a moment, his touch disappearing just after that, but it was addicting. I couldn't stop myself from thinking,  _I want him to keep his hand on me. I want to feel his stubble on my ear again as he whispers in my ear, as I crumble to ashes in his presence._

But thoughts like that were dangerous. They never turned out the way I wanted them to. I would know, I spoke from experience. I swallowed the shard of pain that shot down my spine at the thought of Sam, concern for him causing my mouth to go dry.

Thankfully, I was dragged from those perilous questions as my parents sat down on the couch and waited for me and Bucky to do the same. When we followed suit, sitting uncomfortably next to each other and obviously not a very convincing couple, my mother spoke up.

"You've been together for...how long?" This time when she spoke, her eyes were like a hawk's, scrutinizing every movement of ours. She flicked her eyes down to our hands where they rested a few centimeters from each other's, tension clear in our fingertips.

"Around eight months," I answered after a beat, my voice hoarse. "We met at a bar."

My dad's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and a bit of anger, it seemed.  _Typical,_ I rolled my eyes inwardly. "Since when do you go to bars and  _drink_?"

"Since I turned twenty-one," I retorted, "but you wouldn't know that because you weren't  _there,_ were you?" I glared at him, my eyes pointing icy daggers in his direction. "You were too busy grieving your favorite child, so I decided I'd just mess up a little bit more, and maybe you'd notice that time. Maybe you'd notice enough to actually  _care—_ "

"Enough." My mother's time was stern and held volumes of venom. "We're not having this discussion here. It's for private corners." She tipped her head in Bucky's direction.

Fuming, I shook my head and chuckled viciously. "He already knows."

I could feel Buck's eyes widen at my outrageous lie, turning to look at me. He leaned his body in again, just touching my shoulder with his. It was a warning:  _don't let yourself get in too deep. There's always a point of no return._

Pushing him off by shifting away from him, I answered his warning.  _Yeah, well, I passed that point when I decided to let a wanted man in my house, no questions asked._

"He...knows?" Dad sighed heavily, like a disapproving parent would do in front of a misbehaving child. In this case, the analogy was truth. "Elda, you can't tell everyone about such personal things, some things need to be kept private—"

"I know how important that information is to her," Bucky spoke up, surprising everyone as he entered the conversation. "Elda trusts me to keep it safe and not reveal it to anyone. That's what a trusting relationship is." He swiveled his head to look at me, but I wouldn't meet his gaze; I was trying to stifle my shocked expression from appearing on my face. How was he so good at this stuff?

My parents stared at me and Bucky for a good minute before my mom started up the interrogation again, this time in a lighter tone. Of course, I knew it was only temporary. "So...you met in a bar?"

I looked at Bucky and grinned. Maybe lying for another day wouldn't be too hard. I just had to get them out of the house. "Yeah, he was the most gorgeous one-armed man in the room."

Bucky turned away, that cold expression on his face like usual, but as his face left my view, I could see the facade cracking, his cheeks tinting pink in a blush, and his lips curling up in a smile, albeit small. But it was there.


	20. Too Long

I couldn't believehow goddamn  _gullible_ my parents were. It was impressive, really. The way they ate up the falsified information like it was candy, nodding their heads with wide eyes, looking like the proudest parents in the world.

Of course, I knew it was all bullshit. The only reason they were happy was that they thought I'd found  _the one_. Please. If they could have arranged my marriage when I was fifteen, they would have. It was like they were beyond impressed that I'd found someone stupid enough to fall in love with me in the first place. 

And  _that_ was why I felt the need to break into the conversation with a, "well, it seems like we've all caught up on lost time, so will you two be leaving in the next twelve hours like we planned?" I forced a smile onto my face, but it felt--and probably looked--more like a grimace. 

My mother's easy smile slipped off her face as she slid her gaze from Bucky to me. "You really expect us to--"

"Yep." I bristled. Bucky's fingertips brushed against my leg in warning, so softly that I barely felt it on my thigh. Heat rose in my cheeks as he tapped three times as if to say,  _calm down. You're going to make them suspicious of us._

Which, I suppose, is true. But I was so sick of them snooping around  _my life_ and making snap judgments about  _my choices_  and looking down to me as if I were the muck on their shoes that I felt a wave of emotion roll over me in a matter of one second, a violent mix of blinding fury and crippling grief for the loss of what was supposed to be the most reliable relationship in my life. I admit if Bucky weren't here, with his fingertips grazing my leg like they were, gently reminding me that he was here with me, on  _my side_ , I may have lashed out even more. But I resisted, my anger slightly ebbing away at the point where our skin touched, those small points becoming the reason I could only feel crushing sadness instead. 

Thankfully, my usually oblivious father got the clue and nodded. "You know, dear," he turned to Mom, "I do believe we've overstayed our welcome. It's high time we were headed home." Glancing at me, he added, "Thank you for your...hospitality, Elda. I think we'll just go up and pack our things so we're ready when it's time to go to the airport."

Holding my mouth in a tight-lipped smile, I watched as they both got up, climbing the stairs to--finally--get ready to leave.

"God, I thought they'd never leave," I groaned softly, leaning back on the couch. 

Bucky, still sitting straight-backed beside me, looked over and cocked an eyebrow. "You've still got twelve hours until they really leave. Besides," he added, "they haven't been horrible guests. They're your parents." He shrugged.

I flicked my eyes to him. "What are you saying?"

Shrugging again, Bucky looked away, his hand fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "I don't know, I just..." he sighed. "I just think you should act a little more grateful that your parents come to see you once in a while." His eyes got a cloudy look to them as he continued, "Even when my parents were alive, even when I lived with them, I didn't get to see them as much as I probably should have."

Rolling my eyes, I sat up and adjusted myself so I was looking straight at him. "You think I see them a lot?"

He furrowed his eyebrows. " _Don't_  you?"

His utter confusion was so purely  _Bucky_ that my hardened exterior softened for a moment. "This is the first time I've seen them in  _two years_ , Buck. Ever since..." I caught myself dwelling on a memory and forced it out of my head, clearing my throat. "Never mind."

Bucky reached out his hand for a second as if to grab my hand, but then pulled it back, deciding against it. I ignore the pang in my gut that wishes he'd actually done it. "You don't have to talk about it. We've all got secrets. Some bigger than others. I know that better than anyone." He looked down. It was quiet for a minute before he opened his mouth again. "But I'm here for you. You know, if you need me."

I looked up sharply at him as tears pricked the backs of my eyes. "You'd do that?"

He shrugged. "Sure. It's nice to be needed sometimes. Not always needing others." Chuckling softly under his breath, I see a rare grin grace Bucky's face. And dare I say it, it's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. "Would you look at that, Elda," he says, my heart thumping loudly in response to my name rolling off his tongue, "I'd say we were friends."

* * *

 

The next twelve hours dragged by so gut-wrenchingly slow that I just about wanted to tear my own eyeballs out of my head. I mean really, how long does a twenty-six-year-old have to wait for her parents to leave her house? Forever, I guess. 

We sat through two more painful meals and about eight episodes of some old show my parents insisted on watching. Given the fact that they were leaving soon, I let it slide.

But now, cleaning the kitchen of the dinner dishes and finally having a moment to myself, I found myself counting down the minutes until my parents left, catching a cab to take them to the airport for their evening flight. 

"Hey," Bucky said, knocking lightly on the doorframe as he entered the kitchen behind me. "Need any help?"

"Besides ushering my parents out of the house? Nothing I can think of," I growled, carelessly putting a coffee mug on the edge of the cabinet shelf and merely watching dully as it toppled down to the counter again, bouncing to the floor and shattering into pieces. Sighing, I crouched down and swallowed roughly, holding back tears for the second time today. Before I could pick up even one piece of broken glass, Bucky was right next to me, doing his best to help. 

Obviously seeing my struggle to keep my emotions in check, he reached over and patted my knee. "Take a few minutes to yourself," he said, "I'll handle this."

Placing my hand over his, I thanked him silently and stood up, walking out of the room and through the living room to go to my bedroom. The least I could do was read a book for a few minutes, right?

Wrong.

"What did you break this time, Elda?" My mother said, not moving her eyes from the television screen and sounding bored. 

"None of the precious china you decided to leave here," I replied, too annoyed to put any venom into my words. "It's fine, just a coffee mug."

The lack of a response I received didn't surprise me. They were never interested in what I had to say, anyway. 

 _Who am I? I turn into a PMS-ing teenage girl when they're around_ , I roll my eyes inwardly as I grab a book and try to lose myself in the pages.

* * *

 

It was finally time. My parents were packed and standing at the front door, waiting for their cab to pick them up. To be honest, I wouldn't have been that surprised if the cab driver got lost on their way to my house, as it was hidden in the middle of a forest. 

"Are you sure you can't give us a ride to the airport yourself, Elda?" My father asked for the third time, looking back over his shoulder. 

"Yeah, I've got so much stuff to finish tonight, it'll work out better this way," I answered a little too quickly. 

"Alright, well...we'll call you when we land," my mom said as the cab pulled into the driveway. She leaned in for a hug, and I felt like I had no choice but to oblige her, so as I wrapped my arms around her, I whispered, "No you won't. But that's okay."

When she pulled back, I thought I saw a flash of hurt in her eyes, but I refused to dwell on it. She deserved to feel let down a little bit. That's how I'd been living for the past twenty-six years.

My father opened the door, flashing a smile at both Bucky and me, standing with an awkward distance of a foot apart. "It was nice to see you, Elda. And it was nice to meet you...Michael." His voice spewed off suspicion, but I was too anxious to see them leave in the cab than to notice anything out of the ordinary. 

Bucky nodded, flashing a smile and shaking my dad's hand one last time before the door closes and they're officially gone. 

I didn't feel it coming before then, the wave of grief that suddenly hit me from all sides, causing me to keel over and let a pained scream tear itself from my throat. And before I knew it, I was drowning, suffocating in my own tears. I clawed at my throat to relieve the pain of the sobs that ravaged through my lips, but nothing stopped them from erupting from my lungs. The salty tears were a waterfall as they streamed down my face, staining my cheeks and making them shine in the evening sunlight.

I was faintly aware of Bucky grabbing my arm with his hand and whirling me around to face him. He pulled me into his chest, forgoing any sense of discomfort we still held onto and clutching me to him, holding me while I wept loudly for the loss of everything I'd ever loved.

I missed him.  _Cade._ I missed the feeling of his presence beside me. Too long, I had kept it inside of me, punched down into a box. Too long, I had taken him for granted. And now, he was gone. A dream, shattered into a million shards of glass, lodged in my heart. 

"Breathe, Elda," Bucky said softly, pulling back and locking eyes with me. " _Breathe_."

It took a few tries, but I was finally able to reclaim a handle on my breath, sucking in oxygen smoothly through the crushing weight that still sat on my shoulders. A weight that I was sick of carrying by myself. It was time to set it free.

"There's something I haven't told you," I stumble on the words, looking up at the dark-haired beauty of a man who was staring at me like I was the only one in the world. 

He shushed me again, though. "You don't need to tell me, remember? Some things are too private."

I shook my head. "I need to. I need to tell you, or it's gonna eat me alive for the rest of my life and I'll never--"

"Okay," he complied, nodding. He reached up to brush my hair away from my face, but I beat him to it. The blood rushed in my ears, loud enough to drown out any sound in the universe. "Okay," he said again.

"My brother," I started, choking as I said his name, "Cade." Swallowing roughly, I looked up at him. With the tears drying on my face and my eyes puffy and my nose running and being at my absolute lowest point, I inhaled slowly and breathed out what I'd been holding in for too long.

"My brother's dead. And it's my fault."


	21. The Ugly Past

"My brother's dead.And it's my fault."

Bucky's hand drops from my arm and I can hear his breath hitch in his throat. As he takes a step back, his eyes widening and jaw slackening, my heart sinks. For someone with such a long and messy past, I'd assumed he would be the person to look at me no different, to understand and want to  _help_ me. But he only put distance between us.

Shaking my head, I stared at him with my eyes flicking between each of his own and my mouth hanging open. "I shouldn't have told you," I whispered, "I never should have--I'm sorry," I rushed, turning around and aiming for the front door.

He reached out and grabbed my wrist before I could get too far away, though, and pulled me back. I admit it was more difficult than before, trying to forget the way his calloused hand rubbed against my soft skin, heating it faster than I'd ever realized possible. And when he pulled it back, breaking the connection, I could still feel it. Every pressure point was a fire on my skin. 

For a second, he didn't say anything, and it occurred to me that he didn't know  _what_ to say. "I shouldn't have assumed you'd be any different than  _them_ ," I spat, angrily wiping my eyes. 

"Who?" He said, furrowing his brows.

I scoffed coldly. "My god-awful  _parents_. They blame me for everything." I chuckled darkly and continued, "And it turns out, they're right." 

"I'm sure that's not the whole story, doll," he said gently. "I refuse to believe that you're a murderer...not like me," his voice quieted and he looked far away. 

Sniffing, I sighed. "What am I doing to myself?" I spoke aloud. "I'm twenty-six fucking years old and my parents are still guilt-tripping me into being just like their perfect  _Cade_."

He raised an eyebrow in question, to which I beckoned him with one hand. "Have you taken a step outside this house since you got here, Buck?"

Bucky nodded, "Yeah, that one time I--"

"Never mind. Let's go for a walk. I don't know if I can talk about this while sitting still." Without looking back to see if he was following, I opened the front door and headed for the edge of the forest. It was due time I shed light on the ugly past.

* * *

 

I'd meant to start talking right when we were under the cover of the trees, but I found that the words wouldn't come. My mouth kept opening, but I couldn't be paid enough to make my vocal cords work. So for the first ten minutes, we just walked further into the forest, the shadows growing longer, the path back to the house becoming less clear. 

"You're sure you know where you're going, doll?" Bucky interrupted the silence. "I've got no problem with a little adventure, but I know that getting lost wasn't exactly the main goal of this experience."

Sighing, I nodded. "Yeah, I know where I am. I've spent my entire life walking through these woods. I just...don't know where to start." Turning to look at him, I grimaced. "There's a lot of history in that house. With my brother, I mean."

He nods in response. "I can understand that," he says, a solemn expression on his face, "seventy years is a lot of history to have to hold on to."

A grateful smile graces my face as I step over a gnarled tree root in the ground. As it turned out, we understood each other more than we'd ever thought we would. It just took time.  _How poetic_ , I smirked in the back of my mind.

"Start at the beginning," he suggested softly, "and take your time."

I nodded, clearing my throat. "Okay, here goes."

* * *

 

Cade was always the perfect child. He cleaned up after himself, always kept his room tidy, and rarely fought with our parents. He was the poster child for easy parenting. And ever since I can remember, I'd always been trying to catch up to him. 

"Go hang out with friends like your brother," my parents always said, "do what he's doing."

If they hadn't added the "like your brother" part, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe he'd still be here.

We spent every waking second together. Only a few years apart, I was eternally grateful that we liked the same things. We hung out around town on the weekends, climbing trees in the forest around our house on school nights. But no matter how much time we were together, I was never like him. My parents felt the need to keep pointing it out everytime they got the chance. 

Whether it was my grades in school or my lack of organization, I was always the kid who could try as hard as I could to be like my big brother but would never be the same. I was second best, I was less than. And it hurt my self-esteem, to say the least.

Because what kind of parents tell their daughter they can't do it? What kind of parents worship one child and spit on the other? It wasn't right, but I couldn't do anything about it. 

Until the time came for Cade to go off to college. I was only a few years behind, so I was extra emotional when he made his choice to go out of state. Of course, that what when I found out that while Cade was good at being honest, I could manipulate like no other.

"Why do you have to go hours away?" I'd asked, tears swimming in my eyes. "We'll barely be able to visit you."

Seeing my obvious hurt, Cade had enveloped me in his arms like the big brother that he was, whispering in my hair, "It'll be okay, El. I'll call you every week. You're my little sister. I'm not just going to forget about you. Contrary to what you may believe, that's not possible." 

I'd hiccuped on my tears, beginning to smile as he comforted me. "Still," I'd continued after pulling away and wiping my eyes, "why can't you do something cooler than just  _more school?_  Didn't you want to get into the CIA or something?" I held his gaze as the gears in his head moved around, considering my words.

He shrugged. "You know Mom and Dad won't let me. They want me to go to school before getting a career." Shaking his head, he mumbled, "something about having a backup plan."

But I didn't give up. "You don't have to follow everything that Mom and Dad say, you know," I'd said. "I certainly haven't."

Cade had winked at me, "Yeah, and look how you turned out."

Rolling my eyes, I kept going. "It's your future. They pretty much chose the college you've committed to, anyway. If you want to go to college, go for it. But don't let them control your life. It's unhealthy, really."

My brother cocked an eyebrow. "That's pretty insightful for a sophomore in high school, Elda," he'd smirked.

"Yeah, well..." I shrugged. "Just promise me you'll give it a thought."

He'd nodded. "Yeah, okay."

It didn't take much longer after that for everything to fall apart.

Within the week, Cade had told our parents that he was going to pursue his biggest dream of applying to be a CIA agent, and they couldn't do anything about it. Of course, he'd also included that I was the one to "open his eyes" to this brilliant idea. 

After that moment, my parents never looked at me the same. Always calculating, wondering if it truly was my fault that their favorite child had betrayed them. 

So for months on end, Cade was gone. Training to be an agent in the CIA. Even though he wasn't home, I knew he was doing what he loved. And that was all that I needed to sleep at night. But nothing would stay like that. It was bound to fall apart. 

We got the visit almost two years after he'd joined the agency. Two men in black suits standing outside of our front door, a crisp white envelope in one of their hands.

I hated that envelope. It held the information that caused my parents to look at me with a distant fury for the rest of my life. The envelope, opened carefully by the man who'd held it, was read aloud to my parents, with me hiding behind the wall and listening in.

It was hard to hear the whole conversation; they kept talking in muffled tones. But my mother's wail of grief was unmistakable. My brother was dead. Killed on an assignment gone awry. 

Standing behind the wall, I'd clamped a hand over my mouth to keep the strangled sound from escaping my mouth. The blood in my veins had turned to an icy slush, a loud disturbance rushing in my ears.  _It's your fault, it's your fault, you told him to go, you suggested it to him, they'll never forget, they'll never forgive you_ was all I could hear in my head. I never let myself forget. 

Because the day my brother died was the day I became my parents' worst nightmare. They never looked at me the same way ever again. For good reason, of course.

Maybe if I hadn't wanted to defy my parents so much, if I had just let things be, maybe he'd still be alive. Maybe he'd call me every week like he was going to promise, maybe he'd still be my big brother. But he was gone, never going to age another day. And it was all by my doing. 


	22. Trust Me

Bucky didn't havemuch to say after I told him everything. He didn't look at me like I was broken, or like I was a psychopathic murderer who deserved to be locked up in prison. He just nodded swiftly, and said a small, "Thank you for telling me. Doesn't it feel better to have that off your chest?"

I'd grinned, but only a small one. "I guess. You're a good listener, you know that?"

He looked down at me and smirked. "I've had a lot of practice."

We'd walked back to the house, a gentle silence falling over us. With nothing to do for the rest of the night, we simply watched a movie until we had to fight to keep our eyelids open and yawned every time we opened our mouths. 

That was three months ago. And still, nothing had changed. Bucky knew just about everything about me, but I knew nothing about him. After that night, though, I couldn't get close to him, and he rarely touched me like he had that night. He was back to being a quiet, brooding soldier from World War II. 

Five months. Five months had passed since I'd welcomed him into my home, interrupting the usual silence that I'd become accustomed to. Now, it was just me and him, living simply in the middle of nowhere.

"Hey," I greeted him softly when I heard him enter the kitchen. My back was to him, making my best piece of avocado toast with a hard-boiled egg on top. "What do you want for breakfast?"

It wasn't a big surprise when he remained wordless; he still wasn't much of a morning person. Every morning, it felt like he was remembering all of it, everything he'd gone through to get here. Like he didn't even know me. I tried to shrug it off, but it still hurt. I just wished he would  _talk_ to me like he used to.

"I have to go grocery shopping today," I said as I took a seat at the granite island in the kitchen. "We're running out of food."

That's when his eyes flicked up to mine, those sharp blue eyes clouded over with... _concern_? "Don't go."

I attempted to hide my smirk by taking another bite, but I couldn't stop the flutter in my gut. "We can't just sit here and waste away, Bucky, I've got to get food. You know, so we don't  _starve_."

He looked away, absently bringing his hand to rest on his stump of a shoulder. "You could be spotted. It would only bring trouble," he argued.

"No one's looking for  _me_ ," I persisted, but realized my mistake as soon as the words escaped my lips. "Sorry," I said, ducking my head.

He shook his head, shrugging. "It's nothing I don't already know." Sliding into the seat across from me, he rested his hand on the countertop.

"You know, I don't know how you do it."

Bucky's eyes flitted up to mine again. "Do what?"

I shrugged, picking at my food. "I don't know, keep your emotions inside all the time. Sam's always told me that I'm an open book, that you can always tell what I'm feeling."

"You should take it as a compliment," he replied. Now he couldn't stop staring at me.

Shaking my head, I stood up to make a cup of coffee. "I don't know, it's never done any good. Once, when I was trying to tell my mom that my brother broke her favorite vase, I couldn't stop grinning. She knew I'd done it."

"At least people can trust you." His voice hovered above my ear. I turned, and there he was. His ability to move silently still shocked me, making my breath catch in my throat. "No one trusts me. Not anymore."

"What about Steve?" I asked. "And Sam? They're your closest friends, am I right? I've seen the way Steve looks at you. He's never stopped trusting you, no matter what you've done." I stopped what I was doing and faced him completely, still breathless with his close proximity. "Besides," I added, "you've got me. I trust you."

Bucky's eyes squinted in confusion for a moment. "You do?"

I grinned. "Yeah. Why else would I have told you everything about my brother? Do you trust  _me_?"

He paused before answering, "I...I think so." He didn't sound very convinced of his own words, though.

My hands rose up to my chest, where he could see them. "Do you trust me to do this?" I asked and slowly reached to touch his hand, my fingertips ghosting over the surprisingly soft, warm surface.

He nodded. "That's okay."

Grabbing onto it, I lifted our hands up and laced my fingers through his. "What about this?" These progressions, albeit more intimate with Bucky, were similar to what I'd had to do with Sam after he'd come home from the war.

Bucky looked at our hands, entwined. "Yeah," he said slowly, bringing his eyes to meet mine.

Moving as slow as I could to keep him aware of my actions, I stepped closer to him, our chests a hairsbreadth away from touching. "And this?"

His exhale was shaky and he squeezed my hand. He didn't even say anything, just nodded.

It was getting harder and harder to keep my motions slow and methodical; I could see myself jumping up and giving into the emotions I've been hiding--pretty well, I guessed--for the past three months. But I couldn't. Not when I was so close to gaining his trust. So I moved my free hand up to rest on his left shoulder, just where the flesh would melt into his metal stump of a shoulder, torn off in a battle he still refused to tell me about. I looked up at him, my eyes sending the message.

When he nodded, he squeezed my hand again. "I...I think I'm okay," he said. His voice sounded less and less doubtful.

Letting a small grin grace my lips, I slid my hand from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, twisting my fingers in his long brown locks at the base of his neck. Tugging gently, I bring his eyes to mine, this time blown wide with wonder. "How about this?" I asked, my face tilting up towards his. Our lips are but inches away.

"Elda..." he breathed in response, the way my name rolled off his tongue sending shivers down my spine. "I..." he trailed off, and he looked like he was about to lean in, letting his lips brush against mine, something I'd waited for, for so long that I could hardly see straight.

But no. He broke the connection and swiftly left the room, leaving me standing there with flushed cheeks and a whole lot of confusion. 

* * *

 

I'd hardly drifted off to sleep when I heard my bedroom door creak open. "Hey," I heard him call out softly into the stale, dark air. "Can I..."

Turning around, I scoffed. "You want to sleep in here after that stunt you pulled today?" I groaned, rolling back around. "Fat chance, Bucky Barnes."

He sighed. "I had another...dream. It was worse this time."

"Oh." I couldn't keep the surprise from my voice. It had been months since he'd told me about any nightmares of his. Sitting up and patting the space beside me, I watched as he hesitantly climbed into bed with me. "What happened?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head, laying down on my pillow. "I don't want to talk about it."

I shrugged. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." 

"Okay," I replied, a yawn coming over me. "Just...tap me if you need anything. Goodnight." I laid down on another pillow, still facing him as I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to take me. Of course, I was almost asleep when he spoke up.

"Elda?" It was so soft, so quietly pure that my toes curled. His breath fanned over my face in a hot wave, and I hummed in response. I was in too deep. I couldn't hide my attraction to him anymore. I couldn't ignore this feeling in my gut that was telling me to open my eyes and look at this beautifully troubled man in the face.

"I just...wanted to say thank you," he said, his eyes meeting mine as I looked up at him. "For everything. It's not every day you're asked to give someone like me a shelter to stay in."

Shrugging gently, I let a soft, sleepy smile grace my lips. "Yeah, well, it's not every day you meet someone as awesome as me."

As fatigue caused my eyelids to flutter closed again, I heard him let out a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, you're really something, Elda Reid."

I breathed deeply, ready to fall back asleep when he whispered my name again, this time letting his voice lilt up in a question. "Elda?"

"Yeah?" I answered softly, opening my eyes and curling my lips up at the sight of him. Laying there in my bed, his flesh hand reaching out for me, but hesitantly enough that it made me smile at his shyness. He leaned in closer to me, making it seem as though he was going to tell me a secret.

"Can I kiss you?"

Oh, this was so much better.

Heat rose to my cheeks and I nodded quickly, my lips curling up in a smile.  _Finally._

Bucky's mouth hung slightly open, his plump lips beyond welcoming me. His arm snaked around my waist, holding me tightly against him, and brought his face close to mine. "Elda," he whispered again, his hot breath fanning over my face and making me close my eyes to revel in it. "You're... _incredible_."

Then he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine. Closing the distance between us, I almost let a moan fall from my lips when he swiped his tongue against my bottom lip.

Leaning back, I smiled. "Who knew a forties boy could be such a good kisser?"

The way his lips formed a gentle smirk and his eyes glinted with mischief, I knew I was seeing a part of him he'd closed off for years. "Trust me, doll, I was always years ahead of my time in that department," he chuckled as he pulled me close again, connecting our lips for the second time.


	23. The First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short, but it's necessary!

The sun rose quietly the next morning, just as it usually did. Nothing had changed in the eyes of Mother Nature; everything was as it had been the last morning, and the morning before that, and the morning before that. Everything was as pristine as it always was. The world went on.

But we were different. We refused to stay the same, balancing in limbo while we watched the world go by and time slowly pass. 

It was quiet in the room when I opened my eyes, my view of the window obstructed by the dark figure lying beside me. His shoulders rose and fell with each breath, a soft sigh coming from his lips as he unconsciously kept himself alive. 

Those lips. Those lips I kissed.  _I_ kissed him. And he kissed me. 

My mouth turned up in a small, selfish grin. For that one moment, for that one night, he was mine. But who knew what the morning would turn up?

I lay there for at least a few minutes, with my hands tucked underneath my head as I watched him. His every movement was fascinating to me, none of it escaping my gaze. He was laying on his left side, his lack of an arm nearly impossible to see. Sometimes he'd shift his legs to a more comfortable position, letting out a deep breath before falling back into his deep sleep. 

"You know, it's kind of hard to sleep when you're staring at me, doll."

Okay, maybe he wasn't asleep at all. My cheeks burned with the embarrassment of being caught—or was it something else? Of course, it wouldn't be the first time his old-fashioned nicknames had gotten the better of me. "Why do you do that?" I asked softly. 

He cleared his throat and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing deliciously in his neck. God, I wanted to kiss that neck. 

_Elda. Not now._

"Do what?" He asked, still not opening his eyes or moving from his position. 

I shrugged, though he couldn't see me. "Call me that. What does it mean?"

This time he opened his eyes, cocking an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'what does it mean?' It's just a nickname."

Rolling my eyes, I shifted so I was facing him. I couldn't help noticing that there were only a few feet of empty space between us. "What, so that's how you got girls into bed during the good old days?" I waited for his own embarrassment to reveal itself on his face, but a smirk took shape on his lips instead.

"Obviously it still works," he smirked and reached out with his hand to gently brush a strand of hair out of my eyes. "Some things never change."

I scoffed. "I don't recall me being the one invited into this bed last night." 

His eyes darkened for a second, clouded over with a decade's worth of agony, but then it was gone in only a moment. "Well, would you look at that, Elda Reid?" He hummed softly. "Things  _have_ changed."

Grinning, I threw the covers off of me and sat up, about to touch my feet to the carpet and start making breakfast downstairs. Before I could even sit all the way up, though, he was there, his hand just grazing my shoulder before he dragged it down, overwhelmingly quick, where latched on to my wrist and pulled me back. Unaware of the sudden movement, I fell right into him, my face only inches from his now. 

"Can we just lay here?" His voice was soft and low, causing me to close my eyes as I basked in the beautiful harmonies of his words. "We don't have to do anything, just...sit here with me."

With no words coming to fruition in my mind, I merely nodded, shifting so I was comfortable on my side, looking into those deep blue eyes that had seen more pain and agony than anyone deserved to. It almost made me want to cry. But for a few minutes, I indulged in his request, simply looking at him, focusing on the curl of his lips as he smiled gently at me. 

But then I remembered that time was still passing, I would still have to make breakfast, and I would still have to go grocery shopping for the food we didn't have. 

"Hey," I said softly, relishing in the way his eyes flicked from my lips to my eyes. "We can't just lay here forever. We still have to do stuff today."

He smirked widely, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he reached over and tugged me into his chest. No longer was he a ghost; this version of Bucky I was seeing in front of me was so clearly the man he used to be. It was hard to keep my toes from curling as he whispered hoarsely in my ear, "I could think of a few things to do today."

Chuckling breathlessly, I playfully pushed him away and rolled over to get out of bed. "Come on, Buck," I said, beckoning him to follow me. "It's time you left the house."

He cocked an eyebrow and sat up on one elbow. "Uh, what?"

I nodded. "We'll be fine. But I've got to go grocery shopping, and there's no way I'm letting you sulk by yourself in this house." Sighing, I started my way towards the stairs. "I hope you remember what it's like to feel the sun on your face."

As I left the room, I heard him let out a deep exhale and climb out of bed. He murmured under his breath, the words just loud enough for me to hear. "God, what are you doing to me, doll?"


	24. Groceries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elda and Buckaroo go shopping, and dancing ensues.
> 
> (enjoy some of this fluffiness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this with the song "Cry to Me" by Solomon Burke in mind, so listen to it if you can!

It was nearlycomical, the way Bucky practically jumped out of bed and followed me downstairs, staying well within a few feet behind me at all times. Bombarding me with questions and words of doubt, I had a hard time keeping a straight face.

"Do you have any idea how stupid that is? Going outside when I'm the most wanted man in the entire world? One step outside this house and we'll have every gun trained on us like fugitives!" He paused to take a deep breath and continued. "Oh, wait.  _We are_."

I rolled my eyes with a smirk, waving him away. "Careful where you throw around that word, my friend. Let's not forget who asked whom for help in this situation." Turning around to wink smugly at him, I grinned. "You're  _so_ very welcome on that front."

Bucky just huffed, barely flinching at the  _fugitive_ talk. He hardly ever got embarrassed by it anymore; it was a harmless label to him now, like one might call a child a troublemaker. Of course, that didn't automatically mean that he was ready to have "the talk." His past, the metal arm(or lack thereof, as it was for the past few months now), it was all still a mystery to me. I knew that after telling him about Cade and revealing my demons wouldn't make him overly ready to spill the beans on his issues. But, as usual, I found myself hoping something would overturn. I was getting curious, and it was hard not to just call Sam and ask him myself. 

 _Where are your manners, El?_  A voice scolded inside my head. 

I smirked back at Bucky, who was still wide-eyed and paranoid. " _Bucky_ ," I said, exasperated. "It's going to be fine. We're just gonna go to Walmart and grab some food to last us for a few more weeks and then we'll get in the car and drive home. It'll probably take us no more than an hour or two." When he still looked nervous, I tentatively reached out and brushed my fingertips on his rough knuckles to calm him down. His fingers twitched at the contact, and if anything, it got him more riled up. 

Cocking an eyebrow, he stared at me. "This may be the most idiotic idea I've ever heard." He shook his head and closed his eyes in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"All that life experience and  _this_ is the dumbest idea you've ever heard?" I countered, grabbing my keys off the counter where I'd last placed them and winking at him. 

Bucky shrugged and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear as he replied, "Yeah, I guess not. Steve's had some pretty grand ideas in the past," he reminisced, a wistful smile growing on his face. 

"Like what?" I asked, ushering him toward the door. "I wanna hear some dirt on Captain America."

"Sorry, doll, that's not my story to tell," he answered smugly, and added quietly, "uh, it's just Steve now."

Turning off the living room lights and putting on some shoes, I inquired, "Oh yeah, why is that again?"

Bucky didn't say anything to that and I knew it wouldn't be that easy to get an answer out of him. "You'll have to ask him."

I rolled my eyes. "You three are all so dramatic." I was about to open the door when Bucky's breath hitched.

" _Don't_ ," he rasped, his voice low. "I can't do it."

I turned around and nearly melted at the fearful expression on his face. I'd expected this to happen the second I suggested going shopping in the first place. "Look, I know it seems impossibly dangerous right now, but I need you with me. If we don't get out here sometimes, we're never going to want to leave at all."

He peered at me. "I don't want to leave."

Closing my eyes, I sighed. "Buck, we're going to be okay. I promise. Just stay with me and...keep an eye out for any bad guys on the loose." I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. 

He didn't miss it. "You're hilarious," he drawled, his eyes drifting down to my mouth, where my teeth were still holding onto my bottom lip.  _Did his pupils just blow wide, or am I imagining things?_

"Come on, let's go," I remarked, clearing my head by shaking it a few times. He followed close behind, refusing to leave my side as we walked the thirty feet from the front door to my car. 

Throughout the whole shopping trip, I rarely had a second where Bucky wasn't so close behind me that I could sense his presence there. Oh yeah, he also couldn't keep himself from looking around worriedly, no doubt wondering how long it would take for people to recognize him. He had covered his arm with a leather jacket, but it was obvious that he was still uncomfortable being out in public like this. 

I got everything I needed and was going to the self-checkout when a certain song began to bounce through the crappy speakers at Walmart. "No way," I practically moaned at hearing the beginning of the hit song from the 1960's. "Oh my god, I love this song!"

When I turned around to look at him, though, he was staring back at me in confusion. "Don't we have somewhere to be?" He hissed. "We've already been here an hour and a half."

Sighing, I nodded. "Fine, we'll get going. But we're playing that song when we get home."

_["Cry To Me" begins to play]_

True to my word, I immediately found the song I was looking for and began turning up the volume until I thought it would blast my eardrums to hell. Swaying my hips, I hummed as Solomon Burke began singing "Cry to Me." I knew Bucky didn't know what song this was, but I still ushered him to dance with me. When he shook his head and just sat back and stared, I felt a blush rise to my cheeks.

"I have to say, Buck...I'm really disappointed that you didn't get to hear any of the best music while you were..."

Bucky cocked an eyebrow, stuffing his hand in his pocket.

I waved a dismissive hand. "You know...doing your thing." I really wasn't in the mood to handle  _that_ conversation. Maybe some other day I'd be able to get him to spill.

The music oozed into the charged air between us, and I felt a grin begin to curl my lips upward. My fingers tapped out the beat on my hip and I closed my eyes, swaying and gliding around the room with the same lazy grin on my face. 

For a moment, I forgot that Bucky was standing there, too. But when I opened my eyes and saw him smirking at my dancing, I let out a breathless chuckle and beckoned him closer. "Don't just stand there, come dance," I said smoothly, reaching out for his hand. 

He shook his head. "I think I'll just..." his eyes slipped from my eyes down to my lips, and I reached up to trace my bottom lip, heat flushing my cheeks again.

Shaking my head, I began to loudly belt out the song, doing my best to serenade the handsome man in front of me.  _God, what have you done to me?_ I thought, the fleeting words in and out of my mind within a beat of a moment.

Little did I know, Buck was thinking the same thing. 


	25. An Old Married Couple

"You know, it wouldn't be the worst thing if you actually came into town with me today," I shrugged, trying my best to be nonchalant as I spoke to Bucky. "You could meet my coworkers, get a haircut, see a movie. You know, the normal stuff." I checked to see that my phone was, in fact, in my hand and my Walmart smock was draped over my arm. Thanks to a reminder that I frequently forgot to set on my phone, I rarely went to work without everything I needed now. Though it seemed small, it was always a great achievement.

Oh, yeah. I got a job. Sure, I was just working at Walmart, but it was nice to be able to reach into my wallet or bank account without feeling a pang of guilt tug at my heartstrings every time. Besides, Bucky  _loved_ to eat. That was clearer than it had ever been before.

A few months had passed since our first little gallivanting adventure to the grocery store, and while we were both much more comfortable going outside without being seen, it had proven impossible to get Bucky to venture very far past the line of trees that would lead to town. I would usually try to trick him into going further than he realized we were going, but—frustrating as it was—nothing seemed to get past him. 

When Bucky scoffed and let out a grunt of disapproval, I was jolted back to reality. "Yeah, I don't feel like jumping at the opportunity to seal my own fate if someone recognizes me out there."

Sighing, I sidled up beside his hunched figure that was sitting in a chair at the dinner table. With an amused grin on my lips, I gently reached out and tapped his shoulder, letting my hand rest there for a moment or two. "It's been almost a year since you came here, Buck. No one's found us, and you're probably about as safe as you have been in a while." His head had tilted up to find my eyes; I unconsciously brushed his hair away from his eyes. "Besides, aren't you getting major cabin fever? If I were you, I'd want to just get in the car and drive."

Bucky's eyes were level with my torso and he wrapped his arm around my middle, tugging me closer to him. For at least a few seconds, I was breathless. When he glanced up at me and the icy blue depths of his eyes were sparkling with mischief, I knew that it had been his goal all along. "On the contrary, Elda Reid," he murmured, trailing his fingers up the side of my body and making me shiver with the contact, "I'd rather stay here...with you."

"O-oh," I tried—and failed—to mask my surprise, but my eyes widened as he began to stand up, his hand never leaving me. Soon he was towering over me, his chest pressed up against mine, and my phone clattered out of my hand and tumbled onto the table, my smock doing the same. 

In all the days we'd spent together, all the times he'd gotten like this, so  _deliciously_  flirtatious, he'd never looked at me the way he was looking at me now. With his pupils blown wide, his eyelids hooded, and his fingertips brushing lightly across my arm as he slowly made his way up to my collar bone. " _Elda_ ," he whispered huskily, his voice nearly cracking. It never failed to make me crumble when I heard his tongue roll over my name in his mouth. It may have been the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. 

A shaky breath fell from my lips in an attempt at a response, my body refusing to let my brain function properly. "Yeah?" I managed to breathe out. 

Clearly satisfied with my reaction, Bucky cupped my cheek with his hand, resulting in my leaning into his touch. "Can I kiss you again?"

I blushed furiously as I replied with a breathless, "Uh-huh," and tipped my head up to close the distance between our lips. 

This was our eighth kiss. Not that I was counting, of course.

His lips were less hesitant than I'd come to expect from him now; he was going after my lips with a certain ferocity that I never knew was in him. It wasn't a problem, however. In fact, it was welcomed, the way he tugged at my bottom lip with his teeth, nibbling at it and no doubt leaving it red when he pulled away. My cheeks were flushed pink, I was certain of that, and I reached up with a hand to touch my lips, feeling the aftermath of his kiss. Grinning breathlessly, I planted another soft kiss to his mouth again, just a sweet, chaste thing. 

"You know, you don't have to keep asking if you can kiss me," I said. "I'll probably want to kiss you forever."

If it were possible, his eyes widened even further. Bucky smirked widely. "I know," he replied, brushing the pad of his thumb over my cheek. "I just like seeing you get all flustered when you say yes."

* * *

 

After another shift at the register at Walmart, I finally made my way home. I suppose it was no surprise that I couldn't completely focus on the customers given the ghost of Bucky's little  _stunt_  before I left for work. So when I walked into the house and called out his name, I was in desperate need of seeing him again.

"Hey, did I ever tell you how good of a book this is?" he said, padding down the stairs in into my view. In his hands was my copy of  _Murder on the Orient Express_. "I mean," he added, "Hercules Poirot is kind of an egotistical dick sometimes, but it's fascinating, right? It's like he already knew who the murderer was at the very beginning!"

I cocked an eyebrow and chuckled at his enthusiasm. "Okay, first, it's not  _Hercules_ , that's the Roman demigod that The Rock plays in the Disney adaptation. His name is pronounced with a French accent, more like 'air- _cule._ ' Second, I wasn't aware you were sneaking into my bedroom and looking at my things now?" Crossing my arms, I waited for an answer.

Bucky reverted to his speechless self that had plagued this house for the first six months that he'd been here. "Sorry, I was just—"

"I'm only joking, Buck," I chuckled again. I set my things down on the couch and went over to him so I could playfully shove him. "I don't mind, as long as you don't look at my... _undergarments._ " Smirking, I flounced away from him, where he stood rigidly, his eyes hunting over my body, no doubt picturing what I was hinting at.  _Oh, it was_ fun _when he was like this._

" _Fuck_ ," he cursed under his breath, and tossed the book on the table, the sound causing me to turn around and meet his eyes, see the undeniable lust in his eyes—

A knock sounded at the front door. Then a panicked voice. "Elda, it's me! Open up, it's important!"

 _Sam._  He was back. 

The tone in the room was no longer playful as it had been, it was now hushed and tense, seeming as though the sun had gone down in a matter of seconds. I shot a worried look at Bucky, whose face was hardened into an emotionless mask. We both knew what this meant. If Sam was back, either something had gone miraculously right, or something had gone unequivocally wrong.

This time when I opened the door to someone standing on the other side, I didn't hesitate. Sam stared at us with a look of defeat and terror. "Elda," he said, and when his voice shook with the words, my heart dropped. "You've got to get out of here. Tonight."

Something was so, so wrong.


	26. It's Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's 'bout to hit the fan, y'all. These last few chapters are gonna be so good.

My heart was in my throat as I shifted my wide eyes from Bucky to Sam and back again so many times that my vision started to blur. "What happened?" I asked breathlessly, at the same time that Bucky said lowly, "When?"

Sam reached up and ran a hand down the side of his face. "I don't know. I was just barely able to get out of there before..." he paused, then met my eyes. "Do you mind if I change into another set of Cade's clothes? Mine are kind of..." he trailed off and gestured to the pathetically dirty clothes he was wearing. They were vaguely familiar when I really looked at them, but the thick layer of dirt and grime on them covered up any kind of resemblance to my brother's clothes. 

"Yeah, sure," I answered as Bucky said, "I guess."

My best friend cocked an eyebrow and scoffed, an amused grin growing. "Figures," he mumbled, "Steve was right." He pushed past us and went to Cade's old room, where Bucky had practically moved in. 

When I looked up at Bucky, he was blushing furiously. Rolling my eyes, I followed Sam to the room and let out an indignant, " _Excuse me?_  What do you mean,  _Steve was right?_ "

He didn't reply for at least a few minutes, while he rummaged in the dresser drawers and the closet for a new shirt and pants to wear. Finally, he shrugged and answered, "The night we left you guys here, Steve told me that you'd probably succumb to his... _charms_. Of course, I believed that you would keep things strictly professional around here. But then again, you were always a hopeless romantic." He turned around and grinned, holding a new shirt with a look of triumph. 

My jaw went slack as the words sunk in. "You...made a bet?" 

Sam shrugged again. "It was good for morale. The nights got pretty lonely, just the two of us. Now," he added, "if you don't mind, I'd like to change without you and Barnes ogling my irresistible physique." Winking, he walked up to the door and closed it, leaving us in the dark hallway. 

"God, he makes my skin crawl," Bucky whispered, grabbing my wrist and pulling into the kitchen. Running a hand through his hair, he blew a breath out of his lips. "He can't just come in here, warn us, and then refuse to tell us anything more than 'you need to leave.'" He rolled his eyes and stuffed his hand in his pockets. 

I scoffed. "Come on, don't do this now."

"Do what?" He flicked his eyes up to mine. 

"That whole testosterone, manly protectiveness thing. Not a fan." I waved a dismissive hand. I loved it when he whispered my name, when he brushed a hand over my hair, sure, but that didn't mean I wanted any of that other stuff. It was unnecessary, and rather annoying if you asked me. 

Bucky's mouth fell open, about to reply, when Sam came back into the kitchen and cracked his knuckles, crossing his arms. "Okay, El, it's time to go."

"What are you talking about? You don't really think I'm just going to pack up and leave without an explanation, do you?" I reached for the cabinet, pulling down a coffee mug. "Let me make you a cup of coffee and you can tell us all about it, sound good?" Though my voice was steady, my hands shook so much that I was afraid I would drop the mug and shatter it on the floor. 

"Elda, we don't have time for coffee and chitchat," Sam said lowly. "We need to get out of here. They're coming."

Inhaling a shaky breath, I struggled to keep myself calm as the words sunk in. I ducked my head so they couldn't see me squeeze my eyes shut to keep the darkness there, centering me as the world began to spin around me. A hand hovered over my shoulders, squeezing with a gentleness that could only belong to Bucky. 

"We messed up, El. Steve and I...we thought we were doing everything right. But it looks like we weren't hidden as well as we thought, we weren't smart, and now it's all gonna fall apart." He looked at me with those sad eyes, the ones that had haunted me when he first came home from war, and I took him in for the first time since he'd gotten here. Really looked at him.

His clothes hung off his shoulders like a curtain, his muscles that I used to fantasize about, that used to ripple over his skin, reduced to a thin frame that hunched over. His eyes were gaunt, the bags underneath them dark as if with a bruise.  _They might actually_ be  _bruises_ , I thought in horror. The sight of my friend used to be so comforting, so reassuring, but now all it gave me was striking fear in my heart. Wherever he had been, whatever he'd done, it had all taken a toll on him and now he was all but tearing at the seams. 

"Where's Steve?" Bucky asked roughly, bracing himself with a hand on the counter. He tensed beside me as if anticipating a punch to the gut.

Sam's face, if it was even possible, got even emptier. "He was...they got him. Everett Ross, or whoever the hell his name is. Steve's in the hands of the CIA."

My heart sunk as I realized what that meant. If  _Captain America_ was captured, then it was up to the three of us to stop them from taking Bucky and locking him up like a wild animal. Things were beginning to feel as hopeless as ever. 

If it was hard for me to hear those words, it was torrential waves of torture for Bucky, who stumbled back and breathed out, " _Shit_." His hand went up to clench his hair, nearly pulling it all out at the root. " _Shit_ , Sam." 

"I know. I was hardly able to get away when it happened, and then they said your  _name_ , Elda, they  _know_ , I don't know how they found out, no one knew..." he shook his head, sinking into a chair at the dinner table as a memory tickled the back of my brain, panic flooding my body. 

 _Did I let something slip at work?_ I racked my brain for answers.  _Am I the reason for all of this?_

"I don't understand," Bucky said, staring at Sam with furrowed eyebrows. "How did they find you two at all?"

There was no reply from the starved man at my table, just a jerking shake of his head.

I was still carding through my memories, trying to figure out  _when_  I fucked this all up, when I unconsciously made everything so much worse, when the back of Bucky's hand brushed up against mine. I turned to look at him, his hair hanging in front of his face. He looked at me with the most painful look in his eyes, the icy depths melting me in their gaze as he said in a hushed voice, "This is it, El."

When my skin would typically heat up after hearing my name wash over me like a baptism, I was merely hardened by the sentence. They were the words of defeat. He truly thought this was the end. "What?"

"It was always too good to be true," he continued, "this was always bound to come to an end. Now it's here, and we can't run from it." 

Tears rose to my eyes, but I didn't want them there so I blinked them away and glared at him. "Don't you  _dare_ say that this is the end. I'm staying with you guys and we're going to figure this out, everything's going to be  _fine_ —"

"Elda, we have to keep you safe," Sam interrupted, voice laced with exhaustion. "Go stay with your parents, take a vacation in Europe, I don't care. But you can't be here when they come for us."

He probably thought that I would oblige to his requests, that I would be the soft-spoken, kind young girl that I'd always been around him before, but I was just warming up as I choked out, "That's  _bullshit_ , Sam, I'm not leaving either of you. I got myself mixed up in this, I knew what I was doing when I invited a fugitive into my home. It's gonna take a whole lot more to get me to leave. We're all in this together now." Huffing, I crossed my arms. "Now, what's the plan?"

"Elda." It was a small concession, breaking the tension that charged the atmosphere. "Can we talk?" Bucky enveloped my hand in his and pulled me away from Sam, aiming for the front door. 

I was too weak with shock and confusion that I couldn't protest his actions if I wanted to, so I let him drag me to the woods, the place I'd always found so quiet and comforting. "What?" I rebuked when he stopped somewhere in the middle, my house nearly out of sight. "Is this your plan? Leave me in the woods where they won't find me and go off to fight in some battle with only  _one arm?_ " I'd expected him to flinch at the low blow, but he merely chuckled. "God, you don't  _get_ it, do you?"

"Elda, there are things you don't know about me," he warned roughly, stepping back to distance himself from me. "I want to tell you—"

"Now is not the most  _opportune_  moment, wouldn't you agree?" I hissed, lunging forward to get in his face. "You can't just give up like this, Buck! I won't let you. And if you think that I wouldn't do  _anything_  for you, then you're more wrong than I imagined." He'd stopped trying to interrupt me; now Bucky was just staring at me, his jaw slackened. " _Fucking hell_ , Buck, don't you know? I would stand there and take a fucking bullet for you! I would go to  _war_ for you, and all you're going to say is that 'this is it'? I can't be—"

Bucky surged forward, his hand roughly cupping my cheek as he closed his lips over mine, the kiss sloppy and rushed, but just as perfect as the others. My fingers went up and carded through his long brown hair and suddenly my back met the bark of a tree, my legs nearly collapsing when he darted his tongue out to caress mine. Time had slowed, I was sure of it. This was our own little pocket of forever, where I could pretend that there was no one coming for us. Where we could be safe.

But of course, all good things must come to an end, and when he pulled away, his eyes hooded and pupils blown wide, my lips suddenly felt cold without the contact. "Good god, Elda Reid," he rasped, his voice cracking over my name. "You're incredible." He sucked in a breath, swallowed, and then shook his head. My heart cracked as he softly added, "There's nothing we can do, doll. This is my fate. I have to accept that."

"Fate my  _ass_ , Barnes," I retorted, but the words lacked the venom I was trying for. Wiping my nose, I felt a few tears run down my face, carving a canal in the peaceful facade of my face. 

My eyes closed as he used his thumb to gently wipe away the tears, leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead. It felt like more of a goodbye than I wanted it to. 

"What the hell?" He said, looking somewhere past my shoulder, his face scrunched up as he tried to see clearer. His face drained of color and his hand dropped from my arm, reaching for the back of his belt, pulling out a gun. "El, you need to go."

I cocked an eyebrow. "You can't possibly think that's gonna work. Absolutely not. Now, give me one of those horrifying things so I can kick some ass." 

I held out a hand and waited, but Bucky replied with an attempt at being funny, but the humor was gone from his voice. "I thought you said that high-heeled boots were more your choice of weapon."

 _He remembered._ Shaking my head to rid it of the surprise, I answered, "I think you've convinced me that it wouldn't work as well as I would hope." 

"I don't have another one on me, you'll have to go get Sam if you want to be armed," he said, no longer the voice of the man I'd come to know, but a soldier on his way to a fight. "Or you could just go back to the house and stay there," he mumbled, but the words lacked any vigor. 

Sighing, I patted his shoulder. "I'm done hiding in that house anymore. I'm twenty-six, I can't just sit around and let everyone tell me what to do." I almost started making my way back to my house, ready to fight whoever was insane enough to take Bucky away from me, whoever was coming for—

"We come for the White Wolf!"

 _Oh, shit._ They were already here. I whirled around to look at Bucky, my expression of panicked confusion mirroring his. He waved me away, giving me the signal to continue my trek back to the house, but it was with an air of suspicion that I kept going. A line of bulky black, military-grade vehicles rolled down the driveway, weapons that looked like machine guns attached to the top and swiveling around, looking for someone to shoot at. "Dammit," I cursed softly. I was trapped. There was too much open space between the edge of the treeline and the side entrance to the house. There was no way I could make it there without being spotted, or worse—shot at. 

I watched as the door to the first vehicle opened, and I tensed as I waited for some snotty, too-handsome-to-be-real CIA agent with a black suit and tie to come out and take us.

But when two sets of footsteps stepped out onto the ground, I held my breath and shook my head.  _It can't be. I thought they_ —

Of course, my parents were always brighter than I'd made them out to be. 

"Elda?" My mother called. "We're here to take you home."


	27. All Alone

The sight ofmy parents left me temporarily frozen, but when I saw Sam at the window out of the corner of my eye and gesturing me to run inside, I felt my feet lose their seemingly magnetic attraction with the ground. Shots fired as I hauled ass to the side of my house, fumbling with the doorknob as I tried to let myself in. 

 _I should have gotten this thing fixed_ , I scolded myself internally as I jiggled it, waiting for the  _click_  that would let me know the door was no longer stuck like it always seemed to be. It felt like forever that I was standing there, cursing under my breath at every bullet that rang out around the yard, sounding impossibly close and too loud to be legal. 

I itched to look back and find Bucky, to see if he was okay, but then the door gave way, and I darted inside, feeling a bullet rip through the air where my head was right as I turned around and slammed the door closed. Inhaling a sharp breath, I put a hand to my chest and felt my pounding heartbeat, an unbearable twinge of fear chasing its way from my head all the way to my heart, squeezing the vital organ for all it was worth.  _Holy shit._ It was actually happening. They'd finally come for Bucky.

"Sam?" I called out, deciding it wasn't the most dangerous thing to do in this situation, as he would probably end up being put in the line of fire by his own doing at some point anyway. It was the military man in him. But as I crept through the house on the lookout for my next-closest ally, he was nowhere to be found. The kitchen was empty. The living room was just as we'd left it, blankets strewn everywhere from a late night of watching movies. 

My heart hiccuped at the sight. Even if we managed to keep him out of the hands of the CIA, this would never be over for Bucky. God, I barely knew anything about this man's past; he refused to tell me about his lost arm, why Steve was no longer going by his famous moniker or anything else that involved delving into his memories. But it did nothing to change anything that I'd said to him in the woods only minutes ago. 

If Sam wasn't in here, that meant he was already outside. My thoughts were validated as I saw a man thrown against the window, his nose cracking from the impact, sending blood gushing out of the wound and splattering against the glass. Sam looked in at me, only for a second, with wide eyes that clearly said,  _stay there_. Then he grabbed the stranger by the back of his black jacket and slammed him against the glass one last time for good measure; his forehead split open this time. 

 _Stay here?_ I repeated, shaking my head in disbelief.  _Fat chance, Wilson._ I started rummaging around the kitchen, looking for something, anything to use against these sons of bitches who were going to take my—my what? What was Bucky to me? My  _boyfriend_? No, that sounded too childish. Lover? Ew, too intimate. 

 _Focus, Elda_ , I slapped myself internally. I hurried down the hallway, trying—and failing—to ignore the pained grunts that sounded all too familiar. I burst into Cade's room(well, Bucky's), threw open the closet door, and felt around for a wooden handle. 

"Aha," I mumbled triumphantly, pulling out a thick wooden baseball bat from Cade's high school seasons. "Thanks, big brother."

Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath. "You're probably going to die for this," I told myself, but the words seemed distant and failed to sink in. So I just took my bat and ran for the front door. 

As soon as I felt the cool air on my face, I wanted to go right back inside. 

The gunshots were less sporadic than before; they were probably running out of ammo.  _Amateurs, you'd think the CIA would bring plenty of ammunition for collecting a "dangerous weapon."_

Shrugging, I stepped off the porch, pretending not to notice the three unconscious bodies laying on the ground, blood seeping from their various wounds. 

Unable to look away, I shivered, but then grumbled, "That's gonna be a bitch to clean up, Sam."

No one but my parents had noticed that I was there, so I took that advantage and slunk forward, loading the bat above my head. 

"Elda! Go back inside! It's not safe, my girl!" My father, who I'd rarely seen distraught with fear, was running for me as fast as he could, the concern obvious on his face. "You'll be safe, I promise, just go inside!" He waved his hands forward, trying to usher me back indoors. As tempting as it was, I found Bucky, stumbling his way backward, inching his way closer to me and Sam, who was throwing punches left and right, taking on about four adversaries at the same time. I began to feel rather stupid with my baseball bat. 

But I heard Bucky let out a shocked grunt as he was bombarded with three more strange CIA agents, his right arm held behind his back as the others pounded on him, punching his gut faster than he could brace himself, but I guess that was the point, wasn't it?

My grip tightened around the handle, and I raced toward the back of one of the agents, ignoring the distressed wail that fell from my mother's lips as she watched me run towards my fate. The baseball bat was held above my head, a warcry erupting from my lips, and I brought down my weapon of choice, effectively hitting the man on his head. 

I'd originally thought that he'd crumble under the force, but it seemed I was weaker than I made myself out to be as he turned around, a wolf-like snarl growing on his face as he spotted me. 

"Look what we have here," he smirked, and clutched the front of my shirt, picking me up much too easily and tossing me away like a weightless ragdoll. There was something  _so_ wrong about this.

I landed hard, the breath knocked out of my lungs, and my bat had rolled away out of my reach. As the stranger came to stand over me, the chaos taking place around us silenced, and he reached into his jacket pocket to grab something. 

 _Probably a gun._ I groaned, partially in pain and partially in frustration.  _Elda, you've hit a new record for your dumbass-ery._

But no, it wasn't a gun. It was a small syringe, filled with a bubbly orange liquid, the sunshine glinting off the needle.  _Shit._

He leaned over me, his actions too slow, my muscles not responding— _why couldn't I move?_ —as he held the syringe up to the crook of my elbow. I felt the pinch of the needle as it entered my skin, my body  _still not moving, why won't you move, dammit_ —

And then a bigger pinch as the needle jerked sideways, the man falling off of me. His eyes lost focus. Blood splashed onto my face, and as I gasped for breath, I tasted the metallic substance on my tongue, realizing I'd had my mouth open when he was shot. 

I sat up, yanked the needle out of my arm, and turned over to dry heave. I clawed at my tongue, spitting and coughing, doing  _anything_  to get the taste of the stranger's blood out of my mouth, oh my god,  _there's so much blood, there's too much, I'm drowning_ —

"I told you to stay inside!" Reality crashing back into me like a freight train, I blocked out the sun to see Sam standing over me, a gun in his hand, still pointed at the dead man whose legs were still entangled with mine. Shoving him off, I quickly got to my feet, and surveyed the scene. It seemed like there were hundreds of them. And three of us. I had no idea how we'd lasted this long, or maybe it had only been a few minutes, or one, or just twenty seconds, I couldn't tell. 

 _Must be some fugitive if they're using thirty guys to take down a one-armed ghost from the forties_ , I inquired, breathing shakily. 

Bucky threw off the two agents who were still attacking him, swiveling his legs out to deliver a final kick that would render them unconscious. Huffing, he whirled to face Sam with a dirty glare in his eyes. "You don't have the right to tell her what to do!" He stalked closer to us, momentarily unbothered as they prepared for another wave. "You broke her heart," he said in a dangerously low voice, hovering in Sam's headspace. 

"I'm trying to keep her  _safe_ ," Sam shot back, "A word you don't seem to understand."

They stared at each other, long enough to give our enemies enough time to come up with a counterattack, and enough time to emit a long groan from me. 

"God, give it a  _rest._ Will you two shut up?" I bent down to grab my baseball bat, nearly gagging at the sight of blood on the tip(I definitely don't have the guts to be in the military like Sam). "Seriously," I rested it on my shoulder, the other hand on my hip, "the testosterone out here is  _suffocating_."

Bucky huffed and turned to face the coming onslaught of attackers, clad in their black getups complete with black shirts and motorcycle-style leather jackets covering the rest. Black pants bled into their black boots, bulky and clearly doing nothing to slow them down. 

"Your parents?" Bucky spoke through his teeth. 

I scoffed. "Yeah, they're the tattle-tales. And they're inside, cowering like they always do." I adjusted my bat and stepped forward, ready to kick some ass, when Bucky gasped, crumbling to his knees. 

A woman, dressed in the same attire as her accomplices, held Bucky's arm behind his back, twisting it so hard that he gritted his teeth to keep from letting out a pained scream. 

Her long brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, the strands hanging down over her shoulder as she leaned in and hissed, "It's time to go back where you belong, Soldier."

He bucked under her grip, trying to free himself, but it appeared that this woman, whoever she was, happened to be stronger. Bucky received another punch to the gut that sent him keeling over, the fight leaving him in a wave. 

I felt hands grasp my wrists, pulling them tightly behind my back, and though I fought it, stomping on the stranger's toes, jerking my head back to collide with his nose, I was wrestled to the ground on my stomach. He yanked my head up by my hair, his knee holding my wrists painfully in place as he forced me to watch what was about to happen to Bucky. 

Sam was held similarly to me, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see my parents at the window, looking out at the scene through the bloodstained glass. I seethed at the sight and wriggled once more in a final attempt to escape, but froze as cold metal touched my temple.

"You weren't supposed to die today," the man snarled, shoving the barrel of the gun deeper into my head, "but I don't think the boss would consider it a real loss if I told him this little  _bitch_ was in the way."

Bucky jerked at the cruel name, growling, "Don't you  _touch_ her!" 

His voice hushed as he breathed out a gentle, "Ah,  _I see._  The White Wolf's fallen in love!"

I would have melted at the words, but considering our current situation, I felt it was a tad inappropriate. 

"Elda," Bucky's voice was quiet, his eyes sad as he met mine. " _This is it_."

It was suddenly hard to swallow. "No it's not. It can't be. We've made it this long, we can keep going, you just have to—you can't  _stop_ , Buck, you're not  _done_..."

He shook his head, mumbling something that I couldn't quite hear. Meeting my eyes, he opened his mouth to say something else, but then three syringes were pressed into his arms, the carriers having appeared when I wasn't paying attention. They squeezed the nozzle, pushing the orange liquid into his body. 

"No—" Sam shouted but he was silenced with a hard slap by the woman who was holding Bucky still.

The reaction was almost immediate. Bucky's eyes fluttered, his body sinking to the ground and his muscles losing their tension. His lips lost their shape; any evidence of him about to say something to me was lost. 

As he was carried away, I let a sob crash through my body, and I tipped my head down to touch my forehead to the ground. I wanted it all to go away, to let the grass calm me down so I could go back inside and see Bucky with his kind eyes, his signature smirk, welcoming me home. 

The hands holding me released my wrists, and although I could see myself getting up and killing every one of them so I could get Bucky back, I just lay there, shoulders shaking with grief. 

The gun was pushed into my temple one last time as the voice of the man who held it hissed, "Don't give us a reason to come back and take you, too." Then the cold metal was gone, and the only sounds were the crunch of the gravel underneath his boots, then the consecutive roaring of the engines of their vehicles when they rolled down the driveway, taking Bucky with them. 

"Elda," a soft voice roused me from the darkness in front of my eyelids. "Elda, get up." It was Sam.

"Get off of me," I growled, pushing myself up onto my hands and knees, carefully standing up. "Where are they taking him?"

Sam shrugged, clutching his ribs. "I don't know." He looked down at the ground and murmured, "It was too easy. We've evaded them before, and when they come here it's like we were teenagers in our first street fight." He sighed, furrowing his eyebrows. "Why didn't they take me?"

The tears dried on my cheeks as I looked out along the driveway, trying to turn back time and keep Bucky all to myself. "I don't know," I choked out and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. 

He leaned down and picked up the baseball bat that had rolled over to hit his foot in the final brawl. "Here," he said, handing it to me. "You were damn good, El."

Snatching it from him, I scoffed. "Not good enough."

"Elda..." Sam trailed off, looking out at the setting sun. "I know it all seems hopeless and everything, but—"

"Oh please," I rolled my eyes, "you don't have to treat me like a broken toy. This isn't the end, I'm not giving up, I—"

" _Elda_."

"What?"

"I have to go." His voice was low.

My mouth opened to shoot back at him, but then it closed. "What?" I finally stammered out.

"Steve was in contact with an old friend before he was taken in. She's going to come find you here, and you two will come and find me, and then you can—"

I shoved him backward. "I'm sorry,  _what_? You're  _leaving_ me here?"

"Elda, I—"

A groan sounded from somewhere off to my right, and when I saw it was one of the fallen CIA agents that was coming to, I pointed my bat at him and spit, "Get the fuck out of here," venom dripping from the words. He quickly obliged, getting up and stumbling out in the direction of the road.

When I turned back to talk to Sam, he was already walking away. "It's the only way, Elda. I'm sorry," he called over his shoulder, then picked up the pace and ran to the woods. In a minute, I heard the sound of a car engine starting, the sound fading as he drove away. 

"Yeah, run away, Sam!" I screamed. "Just like the piece of shit you are, leaving your best friend to fend for herself, when you  _know_ ,  _you know_  that I'm just as involved in this shit as you are!" My throat was hoarse as I yelled a final, "You can go  _fuck off!_ "

I struggled to breathe in, raking air into my lungs. The woods were silent, and it seemed that all the other CIA agents had been taken in when they left, no one left behind but that one unlucky bastard who'd gotten a few choice words from me. 

The yard was empty save for splattered blood on the ground, and—oh yeah, that guy Sam killed with the window was still slumped against the paneling on the porch. 

I curled in on myself, dropping the bat on the ground and feeling my shoulders shake with grief. They took Bucky, Sam ran off, and the only living people around me were the two people I'd learned to hate the most. There was no one. I was all alone. 


	28. Leaving

The air left my lungs as soon as I opened my eyes. It had all been too much, so I'd just stood there, shoulders hunched forward and my hands covering my eyes that were leaking with tears. It was still surreal and in all honesty, it had happened faster than they showed in the movies. On the big screen, directors took time to choreograph every fight scene, where each person's leg was supposed to be, what their faces had to look like—hell, they probably made sure that every damn hair on their head stayed exactly where it was supposed to be. 

No. This was not a movie; it had never been so clear to me than it was now. This was not choreography, it was chaos. And it had just swept through my life, turning the world on its axis. 

I stayed there for a few more minutes, inhaling shaky breaths and struggling to do anything but breathe for the time being. I was barely under control of my emotions when I heard the front door creak open. 

"Sweetie? Why don't you come inside, we can get you cleaned up," my father spoke softly like he was sympathetic to the hellfire I'd just witnessed. Of course, I knew it wasn't sympathy I was hearing in his voice, it was pity.

My hands dropped from my face, the tears drying on my cheeks. I bent down and picked up Cade's baseball bat that had fallen from my grip and trudged to the door where my parents were waiting, nauseatingly gentle smiles on their faces. 

"That's it, El, hand me that bat, you're safe," my mother said, her smile faltering as she spotted the blood on the end. Snatching it away from me, she held it in between her thumb and forefinger, a sour expression twisting her aging features. "Honestly, Elda, your brother's favorite bat?" She mumbled, to which I shrugged numbly. 

"It's not like he's around to use it anymore, though, is he?" I deadpanned, walking away and aiming for the bathroom, where I could take a hot shower and collect my thoughts and wash off the dark blood that was still drying on my skin. 

Behind me, I heard her scoff. "Now, who's fault is that?"

My blood turned to an icy slush. My hands shook and I curled them into fists to keep from lashing out. My muscles tensed up. The air was charged. I opened my mouth and the words were surprisingly steady as I growled them out. "What did you just say to me?" I didn't have the guts to turn around—if I did, I wasn't sure I would be able to keep my hands from throwing a real punch for all the shit she'd put me through for my twenty-six years on this earth. 

"Ladies," Dad warned, but his efforts were proven futile when my mother chose to fight back. 

"Who's childish idea was it to bring up the idea of the CIA to a boy who had a bright future ahead of him?" She snarled, her voice getting louder as she stalked forward. "Who told him to pursue these impossible dreams of his when he should be at college getting a degree right now?  _Who_ , Elda?"

I whirled around, the momentary numbness melting into a fiery rage. "What do you want me to say?" I roared, vision going red. "That I'm  _sorry?_ "

"It wouldn't do much good anymore, don't you think?" She was all of a sudden in my space, her eyes leveling with mine despite the fact that she was shorter than my tall frame. 

" _You don't think I know that?_ " I spat, my features etching an expression of fury. "You don't think I regret it every fucking day? That I think about him all the time? That I—"

"Of course you don't think about him all the time, you've got a criminal sleeping in his bed now! You have for  _months!_ " She huffed. My eyes hardly registered the movement of my father behind us, trying to calm us down without getting yelled at himself. But my focus shifted back to my godforsaken mother quickly, a new fire rising in my gut as she mentioned Bucky. 

I leaned in, towering over her and bellowed, "Not anymore, thanks to you!"

"Yes,  _much_ thanks to us!" She hollered, our voices ricocheting off the walls. My dad flinches as if he were hit by one of them. "If it weren't for us, he would have sucked you into his plots, he would have gotten you killed—"

A scoff erupted from my lips. "Like you'd care."

"We  _do_  care, Elda," my dad put in earnestly, but his interruption did nothing to slow her down. 

"It's for your own good, Elda." Her voice was scarily steady as she glared right back into my eyes. "We told them for your own  _good_." When I opened my mouth to shout again, she held up a hand and continued, "Our first priority was keeping you  _safe._ So when we told them that you were harboring a known fugitive, we pleaded with them to let you go free, we couldn't let them take our baby, not after Cade. So they agreed, and they let us come with when they came to take that... _murderer_  out of our lives forever."

Some of what she was saying didn't make any sense.  _They just agreed to let me go? That doesn't sound like the CIA. They suck as many people in as they can._ But I just jerked in a sharp shake of my head and stepped away. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"He's dangerous, El," my dad interrupted again, "it was for the best."

I pointed a shaky finger at the two of them. "You both have no idea what you're talking about. You don't even  _know_  him." So disgusted by their words, I stalked up the stairs and went straight to the bathroom. 

In the midst of my fight with my mother, I'd forgotten how dirty I was. Dirt covered my clothes, my hair was a knotted mess, no doubt from the man who'd yanked my head up by my hair. And the blood...it seemed like it was everywhere. The metallic tang of blood rose in my mouth again, and I keeled over and gagged into the sink, though nothing came out. It was an illusion, yet I couldn't swallow it away. 

Forcing my head up, I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth and set my lips in a thin line. I turned on the shower and waited for it to get hot enough, my usual routine falling into place faster than I'd expected. Stripping down to nothing, I tossed the dirty clothes onto the floor and stepped into the shower, steam rising from the hot water. 

It practically burned my skin, but I welcomed the pain; anything physically distressing was mounds better than what was going on in my head. It was unbearable, the way I could see Bucky on the backs of my eyelids, the way I could hear his voice in my ears, the way I could feel his rough hands on mine. That was something the water couldn't fix.

So I closed my eyes, massaging my sore scalp, and let out a deep breath. He was gone. I had to accept it.  _Bucky's gone_. My lips curved downward, but only for a second. I couldn't let myself fall apart. There was no point in that anyway. An icy wave washed over me despite the steaming hot water, settling over my heart and freezing it in its grasp. At least for the time being, when I had no distractions to take my mind off of him, I would feel nothing. Be nothing. 

* * *

 

It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes after I'd gotten out of the shower when I heard a knock at the door. I grimaced as I squeezed the water out of my hair with a towel.  _Back again for a second round?_ I thought. 

My mother opened the door, and although I couldn't hear the exact words, she sounded confused. I decided to scope it out and kick some more ass if the situation proved necessary. 

The conversation became clearer as I padded down the stairs. "I'm sorry, I don't understand," Dad inquired, "weren't you just here? You already went through all this, and I think my Elda's been through enough for one day, so could you just leave us alone to heal—"

"I'm afraid  _I_ don't understand, Mr. Reid," a man responded, his voice vaguely familiar. "You and your wife told us that your daughter, Elda, has been harboring a wanted criminal for almost a year. I'm going to have to ask you to step aside so we can search the house."

As I came down the stairs and the front door came into view, recognition flooded my mind. " _You_ ," I spat in shock. "What are you doing here?"

Everett Ross flicked his eyes up to mine, just noticing my presence. "I assume you're Elda?" He reached into an inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a gold badge. "I'm—"

"I know who you are." The image of Cade's acceptance letter flashed through my mind, signed perfectly by one  _Everett Ross_. I'd expected him to be a crotchety old man, and while he was considerably younger than I'd imagined, his hair was dotted with gray and his eyes were aged, albeit alert. "Why'd you come back? Deciding I was worth the trip so you could take me in, too? Lock me up in a cell, huh? You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I'd gotten closer to him without noticing, my menacing words falling from my lips like poison. 

Ross furrowed his eyebrows, betraying a moment of confusion, but he quickly covered it with practiced nonchalance. "Uh, you've lost me."

My eyes widened and I snarled, "I've  _lost_ you? Let me just paint a fucking  _picture_  then, how about that?" 

" _Elda!_ " Dad hissed, undoubtedly embarrassed by my poor manners.

"You buffoons, you show up at our doorstep, calling out for the White Wolf, whoever the  _fuck_ that is, and then you beat me and my—beat me and Bucky and Sam to a  _pulp_ , and then you take him away from me, and then you just  _leave,_ and now you're back? You already took him away from me, there's nothing more that you can take, I'm empty, it's all gone,  _you hear me? Gone!_ " I took another step toward him so we were practically sharing breath, and I only stopped my advances when I heard the cocking of guns on either side of me. 

Of course. What a fool I was. The CIA always had back up. Ross appeared alone outside the door, but there was no doubt that the whole house was surrounded, agents waiting for a reason to shoot. 

But Ross lifted a hand. "Don't shoot," he called out, but the silence that met his words let me know that no one was comfortable letting their finger off the trigger just yet. Looking back at me, he shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about. We've never been to your house, Ms. Reid, nor have we had reason to before this." He shifted his weight and crossed his arms. Glancing off to the right, probably alerting one of his associates, he added, "Are you suggesting that a different, possibly rogue group came before us and collected Barnes?" 

I stepped back in indignance. "No, I—" But even as I said it, the words didn't seem all that far-fetched. The men and women who had taken Bucky were dressed in black casual attire, while Ross and his fellow agents, as they stepped up behind him into view, were all wearing formal black suits and black ties, very much looking the part of CIA agents. 

My stomach plummeted. If Bucky wasn't with them, then... _we don't know where he is._ The words somehow hurt worse than the realization that he was gone. 

I stumbled back, shock spreading through my veins, and shook my head. "You...he's..." I couldn't finish the sentence before turning around, pushing past my parents, and storming upstairs. 

"I'm sorry, she's not usually like this," my mother offered, "she's had a rough day."

"Oh, fuck you, Mom," I threw over my shoulder as I held onto the railing, hauling myself up to my room. I was begging myself to hold it together until I was behind closed doors. I didn't care what happened now, I just needed to take a minute for myself and  _breathe._

But when I got to my room, the tears bubbled up and I let a choked sob erupt from my lungs. Clapping a hand over my mouth, I trudged to my bed, fully prepared to participate in any form of catharsis I could find. I was at a loss, I didn't know how to cope with something so traumatic when the only people around me were my disbelieving parents or a CIA agent that sent my brother on the mission that would eventually kill him. 

As I approached my bed, I bumped my bedside table, sending my book to the floor. Groaning, I bent down to pick it up when I spotted a white folded piece of paper on the floor, having slipped out of the pages. 

I picked it up, absentmindedly placing the book on the bedside table again and opened the paper. The breath was forced out of my lungs as I read the words on the page:

_Hey, doll._

_I knew that they would come get me. It was too good to be true, what we had. As much as that sucks, I've learned to accept that fact and try to move on with life. Unfortunately, I'm afraid that you won't be able to after I'm gone. So I wanted to write this to you in an attempt to change that and ease your mind._

I sank onto the floor, holding the paper taut in my shaking hands. A tear blurred my vision, and I wiped it away.

_Never been a writer, El. I'll be honest. Writing letters was always a woman's practice in the forties, but judging your feisty attitude, I'm going to guess you wouldn't like me saying that._

A sad chuckle fell from my lips. 

_I wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I never had the guts to tell you about what happened to me all those years ago in an event that I've tried so hard to lock out of my brain. I'm sorry I never told you how I lost my arm and why we needed your help. God, I'm so sorry I never told you. You deserved to know about it all so you knew what kind of monster you were harboring._

"You're not a monster, Buck," I mumbled angrily, my voice cracking over his name. As I read on, he said it all, the whole story; I discovered there were about three more pages behind the first one. It was horrid, cruel, what happened to him. He told me everything, about a Fascist research group called Hydra, a doctor called Zola that cut off his arm after he fell off a train and replaced it with a metal one. 

Then it bled into the story of how he lost his metal arm, leaving the stump of a shoulder I'd come to know and love. A fight against Tony Stark, alongside Steve, that resulted in the second loss of an appendage. 

_You deserved to know, Elda. I'm just sorry I couldn't tell you in person._

_I'm going to miss you, doll. Aside from all the horrible things I did, aside from the fact that I deserve what's coming to me, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. I'm going to miss you the most. I'm going to miss your biting humor that never failed to make me smile, the comforting smell of your hair that always gave me new breath, your lips that were so sweet, and those soft hands that were always so gentle._

I was weeping for my lost love, sobs ripping out of my chest as I read his handwriting. 

_I don't know how to end this letter. In all honesty, I don't want to. I wish I didn't have to. But I know that I must. I hope you understand why they took me, why it was my fate to be taken back into the ugly system that created me all those years ago. I've known all this time, Elda, even as you made me temporarily forget. As long as I tried to get away from it, I would never be able to rid myself of that part of me. I hope you know that. I hope you can see the truth._

_And most of all, "I love you, Elda Reid."_

My chest hurt from holding in the sobs, and I let it all go, loud, warped sounds of pain rushing from my lips as I folded the letter and held it close to me, squeezing it as if I could squeeze Bucky again. I couldn't move, so I lay there for a while, holding the letter and smelling his scent on the sheets of my bed, enveloping me in an embrace I feared I would never feel again. 

The icy depths of my heart froze over again. My tears dried and I stood up.  _This is not the end. I can't just let him die like this._

It was a blur from then on. The packing, kicking my parents out, the CIA having long gone on their way to search for the unknown group that took my Bucky.  _My Bucky._

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out my phone and searched for the number that used to be Steve's. It rings and rings, but finally goes to the mechanical voice that tells me that the number is out of service. 

Chuckling humorlessly, I hummed, "It's a good thing you got rid of it." Nearly numb with the pain, I almost screamed at the phone but pulled myself together once more. 

I didn't know where I would go, or how I would do it, but I was going to find him. I couldn't just wait for Steve's so-called "friend" to show up before we could search for him. So I would go alone, and I would figure it out along the way. 

"Elda, you can't just  _leave_ ," my mother said incredulously, refusing to leave. "It wouldn't be wise. The CIA will want to know where you are." 

"Please," I rolled my eyes. "I'm not playing into their hands anymore." I picked up my bag, tucking the letter into a safe spot, and hefted it on my shoulder, car keys and phone in my hand. "I'm gonna be gone long before the CIA picks their asses up off their chairs to come find me."

She stared at me, the shock obvious in her eyes. "Elda, you—"

"Enough." My tone was final. I stepped outside. The wind blew my slightly damp hair around my face. I made my way to my car, revving the engine and pulling out of the driveway. My house, my beloved house with so many beautiful moments with  _him_ , faded into the distance. I didn't know if I would ever step foot in that house ever again. I didn't know if I wanted to. 

I turned my focus to the road in front of me and inhaled, released a strong breath.  _I'm on my way, Buck. I'm coming for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the last chapter! Thank you so much for reading! The next two posts will be the mid- and end-credits scenes, if you will. Enjoy them!


	29. Mid-Credits: Into the Ice

He was inagony, but it didn't bother him as much as it used to. He could just barely remember, in the depths of his mind, what happened last time. The serums, the metal clamp that squeezed and electrocuted his brain, just bits and pieces that tore his body and mind apart. 

It was all back, the memories blinking in and out of his brain in a matter of moments. But then there was something else. Beyond the torture and the decades used as a weapon for evil, there was someone else.

He couldn't remember the name, nor the reason she was pushed to the front of his memories. But she was there nonetheless, her pink lips smiling at him gently, her dark brown eyes open wide as she peered down at him. Her mouth opened, and when she spoke, a hundred different things came out at once:

" _Hey there, Buck._ "

" _It's about time you woke up, you sleep like a dog._ "

" _Don't you want to talk about it?_ "

" _You're...something._ "

" _Thank you for being...you._ "

He couldn't remember when she'd said those things, and he didn't know whether or not his brain was telling the truth. Too many years had gone by when he couldn't trust his own mind, having been played with too many times. He slipped into the same trap as he turned his head, discomfort wriggling its way through his body. 

Without meaning to, his eyes opened and surveyed the scene around him. Or maybe it was the light being shined directly into his eyes. 

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Barnes," a gruff voice interrupted his thoughts. A thick accent made his words hard to understand, but he was so disoriented that he couldn't recognize it. "We were beginning to wonder if our assets had injected you with too much of the serum." A hand roughly clapped his shoulder, jolting him to reality. "Of course, they told us you were more tolerant than the others."

The words swam around in his head, confusion bubbling up to the surface. As usual, he didn't process what was being told to him, he just let it be said and float around his consciousness. 

The light turned off and left him momentarily blind from the sudden loss of light, but he slowly adjusted to the more natural lighting coming from a window somewhere behind him, the pale sunlight casting a shadow over the left side of his body. From what he could tell, he was laying on a table that one might find in a morgue, the walls gray and unfeeling. 

He felt heavier than usual, like he was weighed down by an invisible force. Then again, that wasn't unfamiliar for him. Besides, he would rather be confused like this than know the horrors of what he'd done. That was always the worst part. 

"Now, you just lay back and rest, you've got a visitor waiting to see you." The man—clad in a white lab coat and thick-rimmed glasses that magnified his eyes to an alarmingly large size—smiled at him kindly, but the gesture lost its niceties when he arranged his... _tools_ on the smaller table beside him. Included in the pile was a miniature saw, like the one used to cut bone. 

He was beginning to think he really  _was_ in a morgue. But then...was he dead?

"No, you're very much alive, my dear boy," he said, the rough voice contrasting with the kind words. "I'm sorry our surroundings are so grim for the time being. But I requested that my works be moved to a more settling location. We'll see if the boss deems it necessary." Wiping his hands on his lab coat, he nodded. "Alright, you ready? Good."

The doctor walked to the door that was directly in front of him and pried it open, squealing on its metal hinges. "He's ready, sir."

He was ignored for a few moments, during which the figure of a man and woman filled his vision. 

"Mission report?"

 _He knew those words_.

"The White Wolf was collected successfully, sir. Little complications were seen, although he did seem to have a girlfriend with a fiery attitude." The woman cocked her head in his direction, noting his presence, but refusing to meet his eyes. "The serum was administered with little difficulty, and the asset was brought in immediately, sir."

The man standing opposite her nodded. "And the CIA?"

Her satisfied smirk was evident in her voice. "Too late."

The unidentified man clicked his tongue in mock pity. "What a shame." Then he turned to the doctor and nodded briskly. "How long has he been awake?"

"Just a few minutes, sir," the doctor answered, his tone switching from warm gentleness to the cold air of following orders in a matter of moments. "It's better to start treatment sooner rather than later. More malleable when they're still coming out of it."

The shadows danced on the walls as the man in power nodded. "You know best, Doc." He rested a hand on the woman's shoulder and stared intently into her eyes as he ordered, "Keep him subdued, Soldier. We can't have him getting out of control like he's known to do."

She nodded swiftly and turned to face him, lying helpless on the table. "Don't worry, sir, I specialize in keeping my men in order." She waved the two men away and entered the room, muttering, "I'll be done in ten minutes," to the doctor. After the door was closed, she stopped moving and smiled at him, flashing white teeth in his direction. 

"Hey there, Soldier." Her voice was lacking any kindness and was full of scorn. He closed his eyes in an attempt to be rid of it, but of course, it did nothing. She stalked forward, her face coming into view.

Something about the long dark hair and dangerous eyes sparked a memory in him, but he was unable to dig further into his brain's archives. He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head. 

"Don't speak, it'll only get you in trouble," she spoke with a nonchalant shrug as she reached for a syringe on the doctor's table, pulling a small bottle of a clear, seemingly harmless liquid from her jacket pocket. When she noticed him staring at it, she smirked. "I know. Seems a lot less scary than that orange stuff we used to get you here." Shrugging, she began to fill the syringe at an agonizingly slow pace. "But sometimes it's the ones that look safe that will actually kill you."

She held the syringe up to the light, the needle shining in the sunlight from the window. Squeezing the handle a bit, the stranger watched as a bit of the substance leaked from the tip and ran down the outside of the needle. Then she set it down on the table and flashed another full smile. "Oh, I'm getting too excited. We've got a lot to catch up on, don't we?"

He couldn't move. It was like he was being held there, but when he looked down there was nothing restraining him. 

"You don't remember me, do you? That's a shame." She made a tutting noise with her tongue. "We used to train together, back in our old place of employment." Then she held out her left hand as it to shake his. "I didn't forget that you're a lefty, Soldier."

But he wasn't. Not anymore, he was sure of it. He could specifically remember losing his left arm twice. Even so, the woman—he still couldn't remember her name, though it was itching the back of his brain—cocked a pitying eyebrow. "You can shake my hand. Go on, look at your new gift."

 _No. It couldn't be. Not another curse._ But it was, of course. He was able to tilt his head away from this strange woman and catch the glint of the light of a black metal appendage that looked suspiciously like an arm. He strained his eyes to follow it up, up, up and saw it disappear under the sleeve of a white t-shirt he was wearing. It was true. They'd given him another cursed metal arm. 

"Isn't it...ravishing?" She sighed, dropping her hand back to her waist. "Much better than your old one, if you ask me."

He couldn't speak. His tongue was dead weight against the bottom of his mouth. 

She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "Fine. It looks like it's going to take some time before we break you in. If you don't have anything to say, then I guess we'll have to get started with the treatment." 

Reaching down to pick up the syringe again, she moved it to the crook of his right elbow, sliding the needle into his skin. He didn't even flinch from the pinch that he felt. He was too far gone. As she pushed the substance into his bloodstream, it was cold and he felt it spread around every inch of his body, soon finding its way up to his brain. Everything was getting foggier. 

The woman leaned over his face to look closely at him. Pouting, she said, "You really don't remember me?" She almost looked disappointed. "Damn. I thought Asset 53 had made a bigger impression on you, Soldier."

He wanted to scream as the cold swept over his brain, freezing it and making it feel as though it was shutting down. His eyes began to flutter closed, and she spoke once more. 

"You're going to like it here, my friend. And don't worry. You'll meet your maker soon enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asset 53 is important! I have a new work coming out for her origin story, so read that when I publish it!


	30. End-Credits: An Unexpected Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you so much for reading this book, whether you were here from the beginning, or came here from my tumblr account(marvel-ous-fics). Thank you from the bottom of my heart! I hope you fell in love with Elda Reid as much as I did.

She didn't thinkit would be possible for her to roll her eyes one more time that day.  _If I had a nickel for every time I made a fool of myself..._  she thought sardonically, closing her apartment door behind her. Tossing her keys on the table, she ran a hand through her hair and sighed. 

"Who knew getting a chance to train for the CIA would be this hard," she mumbled to herself, feeling more than hearing her stomach grumble with hunger. She'd put off meals for the day, simply because she was so nervous about her evaluation with a real CIA agent. It probably wasn't healthy, and she definitely regretted it afterward, but at the time it didn't seem necessary to eat when she would probably throw it all up in training anyway. 

The kitchen was unusually plentiful, a perk of actually having a job as a normal, functioning twenty-four-year-old should. It had taken her a few years after her fall out with Earth's Mightiest Heroes to figure that part out. 

 _Huh. Haven't thought of them in forever,_ she noted swiftly, pouring a glass of milk for herself and reaching in the cabinet for some crackers.  _Wonder how those dipshits are doing._

Getting the majority of her news from snotty news reporters was rather disappointing if she did say so herself. There were times that she missed being part of a team, having that sense of familiarity with such extraordinary people. But then again, there were parts of the team— _people_ in the team—that she would rather keep out of touch with. 

Munching on crackers, she grabbed her glass of milk and was aiming for the couch to do some serious bingeing of  _That 70's Show_  when her phone vibrated on the counter, alerting her to a phone call. She back-tracked to the location and peered down at the bright screen, frowning at the strange number. "Probably the Republicans trying to convince me not to vote for Democrats," she rolled her eyes— _again_ —and nearly turned the phone off, declining the call, when a spark of curiosity got the best of her.

"Who knows," she remarked to herself with a shrug, picking up the phone, "this could be fun." She tapped the green 'answer call' button and put the receiver to her ear. "Hey there, you've reached the Russian satellite on Mars, how can I be of—"

"Hey. It's me."

Her voice cracked at the deep voice. It had been six years since that voice had rumbled its way through her body for the last time. Six years since she'd seen him in person. "S- _Steve_?" She stammered.

"Uh, yeah." His voice was hushed. "Look, I don't have much time, you have to listen to every word I say." 

The young woman shook her head, unimpressed by the sense of urgency in his voice. "Absolutely not. I'm not getting dragged into your shenanigans again. There's a reason I left the super-secret boy band, Rogers."

A pause. Then, "I know. I'm sorry."

Though he couldn't see her, she shrugged anyway and popped another cracker into her mouth. "Whatever, I'm over it. I think. But how'd you get this number?"

Steve chuckled on the other line. "You didn't change it. So I just looked it up in the phone book."

She scoffed, nearly choking on the cracker. "The  _phone book_? Goddamn, Stevie, you really haven't changed. Still an old man, I presume?"

"Very funny," he hissed, "but we don't have time to catch up. I'm about to be found and taken in. You have to help me. Sam's here, too."

She heard a distant, "Hey, kid!" in the background, causing her heart to warm with the memory of old friends. Then, of course, she scolded herself for feeling so fluttery inside. It was so unlike her. 

"I know we haven't talked in awhile," Steve continued, "and I know this was a long shot to call you and ask for your help. But I didn't know who else to call."

She rolled her eyes(she wondered if they would ever get stuck like that if she did it too many times) and crossed her empty arm across her chest. "No shit, Sherlock," she huffed. "You think you can just call me after six years and everything that happened? There are lines, Rogers, lines that you've just crossed." Sighing, she added, "I really don't want to talk, Steve."

"I know. But this could get you back in the forefront of the fighting, just like I know you always craved."

This time, she coudln't help but let an intrigued smirk grow on her face. "Oh? There's fighting involved? Do tell, Cap," she winked.

Steve sighed, but continued. "Bucky's going to be taken in by the CIA. He's being taken care of by a close friend of Sam's."

She mocked surprise. "Sam has other friends than me?"

"Like you said, it's been six years." Clearing his throat, he went on to explain, "This friend of his, she's going to need help keeping Bucky out of the grasp of the CIA. I'm already going to be in their facility, it was only a matter of time. Sam's fine, he's going to see Bucky and our friend soon so he can help protect them both."

"Wait," she interrupted, "so you just want me to play bodyguard? Sorry, I don't watch other people's backs, I watch my own. And kick ass while doing it."

"Trust me, I know. I just need you to do this one thing for me."

She waited for him to state his request.

"I need you to go find her and Bucky. I need you to smuggle them out of the country. I don't care where you go, I just need them gone. Anywhere else will be safer for them than here." Steve's voice carried a sadness that was hard to ignore.

Her mouth hanging open, she was skeptical as she inquired, "I have to smuggle them out of the country? Like a criminal?"

"Yeah." He didn't say anything for a moment or two but then added, "Just think of it as a long vacation. In secret."

She chuckled humorlessly. "Yeah, that'll do the trick. That's gonna make everything better when I'm hiding them in an abandoned church or in the sewers or wherever the hell I'll find them a spot—"

"So you'll do it?" His words began to get more urgent like he was running out of time. "I need you."

Scoffing, the girl retorted, "Please. You said that the last time. Look how we ended up."

The line was silent. But Steve obviously couldn't have it that way for long, as he put in, "Please do this. I'll pay you back, any way you'd like me to."

"Well, I'll start by having you leave me the hell alone," she started, but then deflated. "Fine. I'll do it. But only because you suck at hiding people. And partially because I can't get a job at the CIA. Something about having a previous involvement with a certain star-spangled fugitive." With a smirk, she finished, "You wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you, Cap?"

"'Course not," he replied swiftly, the teasing smirk evident in his voice. Then, softer, "Thank you. This really means a lot to me."

She waved a hand dismissively, saying, "Yeah, whatever. Thank me when it actually works, Rogers."

If she could have seen him, she was sure that he would be smiling. "It will. It has to." Then he went on to tell her the address of a certain Elda Reid, the house in which she would find the twenty-six-year-old and Bucky, the man from the past that she'd only known for a few months. 

"Alright, Captain America, I'd say it's time to sign off," she concluded, a pang of excitement growing in her gut. 

"Yeah, I've got to get on the move. And get rid of this phone. I've said way too much." He paused again, ever the sucker for dramatic effect(just like she remembered), and added a soft, "Thank you," before hanging up. 

Jabbing her thumb on the 'end call' button, Cara Jansen tossed her phone down on the counter. Running her fingers through her hair, she smirked, feeling the adrenaline surge through her veins.

It was time to go to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys don't know who Cara Jansen is, but you will. All will be clear in the sequel, SALVATION, which is coming soon!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! tell your friends about this fic! xoxo laura


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